


A New Arrangement

by Even-Gayer-In-Slomo (EvenGayerInSlomo), Schmuzz



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Getting Together, Male-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Oral Sex, Period-Typical Sexism, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Sharing a Bed, Teasing, Tender Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:33:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21853924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvenGayerInSlomo/pseuds/Even-Gayer-In-Slomo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schmuzz/pseuds/Schmuzz
Summary: There, a proper bride to be,” she breathed out.Aziraphale stared at the ring, then over at Crowley. “And what would my fiancé think, if he knew that you were the one that proposed, hm?”“Ah,” the demon said, “he knows you’re in good hands with me.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 64
Kudos: 249
Collections: Break in Case of Emergency: Fluff and Love





	1. The Plan

**Author's Note:**

> So this is totally, 100% indulgent wlw regency romance nonsense that me and my friend cooked up, but we thought the fandom might enjoy it as well. Let us know if you like it! :)

Not long after Aziraphale had purchased A. Z. Fell and Co., Proprietor of Books to the Gentry, two things happened near simultaneously: Aziraphale swallowed his regret at not being able to wear the beautiful gowns of the previous century and, finding the fashionable silhouettes of the era to be elegant and not too ostentatious, decided to appear as a woman. The second thing that he - who would now be a she, until further notice - did was rearrange her book collection by literary era. 

“Keats, Wordsworth, Shelley, the other Shelley, ah, Lord Byron…” Aziraphale picked out a thin volume of poetry and opened it with a smile. The man had been a bit of a toff, but the work really did speak for itself. It hadn’t even been a year since the poor man had passed, and despite the public scandals he had caused, she still had to shove his work and that of his contemporaries near to the back to avoid prying eyes. 

“A lady who obviously comes from impeccable breeding such as yourself shouldn’t concern herself with such drivel,” came a voice. Aziraphale cast a glance upwards.  _ Heaven give me strength.  _

She whirled around, cream colored cotton flowing with her. She gave a pinched smile at the customer. “Good afternoon,” she said. “How may I help you?”

“Sir Joseph Hawthorne,” the man said, holding out a hand. Aziraphale held in a sigh as she reached out, her knuckles being kissed. “I’m a scholar you see, I’ve always meant to come down here as the display looked impressive from the street, but this shop is hardly open!” 

“Yes, well, one does get busy,” Aziraphale managed. 

“And who might you be, my dear? I apologize for the lack of  _ proper  _ introductions, but you seem to be here all by yourself!”

“Yes, I’m Aziraphale Fell. Owner of this establishment, hence why I have no need for an escort.” Sir Hawthorne’s eyes grew wide. 

“You? Surely you jest! This building has been standing for years!”

“A mere twenty-five.” Aziraphale turned slightly to pick out the rest of Byron’s poetry out of spite.

“It must be your father’s - your husband’s!” 

“Perhaps I inherited it,” she answered flatly. Sir Hawthorne gave a loud laugh.

“Then you’re not  _ really  _ the owner.” Aziraphale turned back to the man.

“Then I’m afraid you aren’t quite familiar with how property law works in this part of the world.” 

“Oh, I’m quite aware of how the regular law works in this part of the world.” Aziraphale realized that the corner where the Romanticism literature was shelved meant that she was quite literally backed into a corner, with a man who was staring at her with a mix of condescension and the desire to intimidate. 

Well! She would not be intimidated! She rushed past him, skirts hitting against his leg as she squeezed herself out of the shelves and back towards the front of the shop, placing the books on a small table as she went. The rest of the shop was empty, so she had no trouble marching towards the front door and throwing it open.

“I do not care what you choose to assume about me, my family, or my shop. I am the owner, and I ask that you leave!” She straightened her skirt with one hand while pointing outside with another. “Please,” she added. 

The man followed her out, stepping closer than what was really needed. His expression was put out. “Oh, come now,” he pleaded, “I can tell you don’t mean any of that. Why, it sounds like you need me here!” His arm stretched out between them, startling Aziraphale to take a step back. “It’s not safe to have such a young woman be by herself like this, especially in a neighborhood such as this, don’t you realize?”

“I’ll have you know -” Her sentence was cut off by the sudden sound of a familiar voice.

“Oi, angel!” Oh! Thank Heavens, it was Crowley. She turned to stare at the figure walking up the steps, and she obligingly let them inside. The demon nearly bowled Sir Hawthorne over as they got into the shop, showing off a cardboard box. “I found some of those pastries you kept going on about. You had better -” The words stopped as Crowley paused and read the awkwardness of the situation. Aziraphale took the brief pause to consider her friend’s new appearance. 

The only part of Crowley’s outfit that was recognizable to the angel were the dark glasses perched upon her nose. Everything else the demon wore was, well...much more masculine. She’d never even known that Crowley owned trousers from this century, let alone wore them out in public. They were black, and also very tight, and with a flustered sound she realized that she could tell that the demon was making no phallic Effort between her legs. She quickly lifted her gaze to notice the demon’s deep sneer directed at the unwanted visitor.

“Who are you?” Crowley asked. As Sir Hawthorne opened his mouth, the demon quickly stepped between them, moving herself into the other’s face. “Actually, I don’t care. Why are you speaking to Aziraphale?” Aziraphale couldn’t help but let out a thankful sigh behind Crowley, already feeling lighter in her chest as Hawthorne began to sputter. 

“I beg your pardon, Sir. I am Joseph Hawthorne and we - I mean I was merely inquiring about associating with the lady in a personal manner.” Aziraphale didn’t appreciate the sudden change of tone the other had. His back was straight, his attention entirely on Crowley. Completely the opposite of how he had chosen to treat her while he was trying to gain her favor. It was as though Aziraphale was a child compared to how he spoke to the demon! If the outfits weren’t as delightful as they were Aziraphale would have changed her appearance in an instant. 

“You came here to inquire after a taken woman,” Crowley snapped.

“I beg your pardon! Your lady never mentioned that! She said that she was the owner of this shop!”

“Indeed she is! She doesn’t need my permission to do what she will with  _ her  _ fortune and  _ her  _ time. I have no say in her business affairs, but I am more than happy to escort the less savoury customers out myself. So I’d say that it would be best that you leave now before you end this night with your front teeth missing.” 

The mention of violence - and not the implication that Aziraphale was spoken for - caused the angel to finally step into motion once again. She placed a gentle hand onto Crowley’s shoulder to get her attention, noticing a tight tension running through the demon’s arm, down to a clenched fist

“Oh, dearest,” she said softly. With her other hand, she grabbed onto Crowley’s and squeezed. “It was all just a misunderstanding. On  _ Mr _ . Hawthorne’s part, anyhow.” she quickly added, unable to keep back her smirk as the man in question glared. 

Crowley untensed slowly under her touch, before she suddenly raised their joined hands and pressed a soft kiss to knuckles that had moments before been touched by Hawthorne. Aziraphale’s mouth opened in a soft gasp as lips pressed themselves to her skin, a kinder touch compared to the condescending one of the so-called  _ scholar _ . She felt a flush creep up the exposed neckline of her gown, heating her face.

“I can see I’m unneeded,” Sir Hawthorne said, unnecessarily, to two beings that were no longer paying attention to him. “I’ll see  _ myself  _ out, and you can be  _ sure  _ I won’t be visiting this shop again!” The door jingled as it shut behind him, and Crowley snapped her fingers to lock the door a moment later.

“He’d never visited before in the first place, why should I care?” Aziraphale glanced at the ceiling once more, though this time out of exasperation instead of Divine assistance. “He told me Byron was drivel!” 

“He didn’t!”

“I’m sure if you hadn’t come when you did he would have started to tell me the only worthwhile reading pursuits for someone like me would be some housekeeping magazines.” 

“Well, luckily I was in the area, wasn’t I?”

“Ah, yes, though really, Crowley, knocking his teeth in? You know the humans in these parts still love their duels of honor.”

“Believe me, angel, I can sense things like that, and he wasn’t the type.”

“Yes, well, let’s give over talking of him.” She glanced down. “I believe I heard mention of pastries?” Crowley held the box aloft again. It was tied up with twine, and she let it hang suspended by a hooked forefinger.

“Only if you have some tea to go with it,” Crowley goaded. 

“Well of course I do,” she sniffed. Aziraphale began to make her way through the shop before she realized with a jolt that she was still holding the other’s hand. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t -”

“I forgot -” started Crowley. The pair of them flung their hands from the other’s grasp to rest them at their respective sides. There was a pause. 

“A-After you,” Aziraphale said, gesturing for Crowley to head to the back room. “I’ll go make that tea!” 

“Right, ‘course. I’ll set this up. Yeah.” They quickly parted ways. 

-

Aziraphale slowly sampled the collection Crowley had brought to the bookshop, with Crowley taking the occasional bite and sipping at the light herbal blend Aziraphale kept on hand just for her. At some point, Aziraphale declared that there was only  _ one  _ way to enjoy the absolutely scrummy lemon tart that had been in the box, which was, of course, with a glass of chilled limoncello. After that, a few dessert wines were sampled before they both declared it was late enough and they switched to a proper Barolo. 

“I didn’t know that you were thinking of switching to a male form, Crowley,” Aziraphale brought up hours after she first noticed the change. 

“Me? Oh, nah, not changed forms, just the er, whatsit -  _ clothes.  _ And er, manners, I s’pose.” She shrugged. “Still more of a woman for now, but don’t tell anyone, yeah? You know how humans get about  _ categoriesss, _ ” she hissed before draining the rest of her drink.

“I do indeed,” Aziraphale sipped from her own glass, frowning as she was reminded again of Hawthorne’s actions towards her. There had been other men not dissimilar from him since she had shifted forms. Her features - blonde, pale, plump - tended to be sought after, and her dresses made it readily apparent that she was of means. Open season for many bachelors in town, apparently, even if she didn’t look as young as what was considered attractive for women these days. “Whatever you feel comfortable with is just fine with me, dear friend.”

“It’s not much of a preference thing, really,” Crowley waved her empty glass around as she spoke. “Been working on a temptation. A long term one, I mean, building up to it and all.” She snapped her fingers and her glass filled to the top, only to be quickly guzzled down once again. 

“Oh yes? What might that be? Something dastardly?”

Crowley groaned. “No, I  _ wish.  _ I’m meant to befriend a human before the Season is over, get invited up to his estate, meet  _ another  _ friend of his that’s meant to be visiting, and tempt that idiot and hopefully a bunch of others into wasting their fortunes and unsettling the banks on… something.”

“An economic collapse?” Crowley waved a hand.

“Surely it won’t be that bad. And if it was it’d serve the banks here right, after Napoleon got defeated a lot of England started to get too big for its boots, I’d say.” 

“Well… perhaps. I can’t say I’m in favor of that, but I'm sure I can deal with it myself later." 

Crowley went quiet as Aziraphale finished her wine, her serpent eyes tracking the angel’s movements from behind her tilted down shades.

"You know," Crowley suddenly said, "I could just bring you along with me."

"Bring me along?" Aziraphale asked. 

"Well of course. That way we'd be on equal footing, I tempt him and then you get the chance to redeem him if you like." Crowley was slowly seeming more sure of herself, pulling herself from her seat and starting to pace the room. "I would guess that you'd be tired of London. Twenty-five years running this shop, wouldn't a vacation in the countryside sound good right now? And it would mean less crass men barging into your space demanding your time!"

Aziraphale blinked as the other ended her rambling. A vacation? It wasn't too strange of an offer between friends, really. Aziraphale was good at settling into a place and refusing to leave, but it would be nice to spread her wings in a way, away from home. What was odd, however, was the way that Crowley was inviting her along. 

“Well, there would be less men I suppose, but I’m not sure about the pestering.” 

“You wouldn’t be going as a friend, you know - I need a cover.” Ah. There it was.

Aziraphale set down her finished glass and folded her hands onto her lap. “I see, so we’re talking of the Arrangement now.”

“If you want.”

“Yes, fine, carry on.”

With a sigh, the demon sat back in her chair. “The man I’m talking with keeps talking about his daughters; one is planning to come out the next Season, and the daughter after that just came out herself, but had a fever and had to go back to the estate early. I’m getting the implication that they have very promising futures ahead of them and  _ don’t  _ need any charming, red-headed rogues waltzing around on their property and tempting them, you see? But if I was already marrying someone…” 

"Then you wouldn't be seen as a threat, I see." Aziraphale gave a soft hum as she thought it over. "You would have to trust that I can keep the, er, story straight, you know.”

Crowley shrugged. “Won’t be hard, we’ve known each other long enough. Any fun adventures we’ve gone on could be from a holiday or something.” 

“Of course, yes, but there might be… pretenses to keep up, you know,” Aziraphale said, only tangentially knowing what said pretenses consisted of, already knowing they wouldn’t fit in with their head office’s codes of conduct. 

Crowley merely scoffed, looking away. “Please, with how uptight the upper ten thousand get about being the ‘right sort’, I bet we’ll barely hold hands.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, who may have had a reaction to the idea of holding hands but pushed it down before it could manifest. “Do you think the food will be good there? I mean, surely they must have a chef of some sort."

"The family holds large, extravagant parties I’m told, so only the best," Crowley waved her hand about, "and if they don't, they will when we get there." 

Aziraphale considered it for another moment. Going to a cushy country estate for a while with Crowley sounded well and good, but using the Arrangement to pretend to be an engaged couple? One part of her brain that wasn’t completely wine soaked thought that was a recipe for disaster. 

The rest of her, however, thought that it might be good fun, and she couldn’t bring herself to leave Crowley high and dry anyway. 

Making up her mind, Aziraphale leaned forward and stuck out her hand. "Then I suppose I can take a break from my shop."

Crowley took it. “It’s a deal, then,” she said, and smiled. 


	2. A Start

Crowley already knew how the gentry could get on her nerves - all the rules and restrictions of the fashion and manners - but within London limits it was mostly tolerable. There were plenty of debauched masquerades and gaming houses to while away one’s time. But it was the country estates that the true stifling nature of upper class life hit the hardest. 

At least as two ladies they weren’t expected to ride horses up to the house. 

“We should be there in another hour or so,” Crowley said, shifting against the seat. Aziraphale had already read four books of the dozen she elected to bring on the trip. “Shall we go over the plan?”

“I’m not sure what there is to go over, my dear, it really isn’t that complicated.”

“You say that now - I know you aren’t a good liar, angel.” Aziraphale sniffed. “Look, they know me - er, my brother, so I’ll do the talking, introduce you as Sir Anthony Crowley’s betrothed. Once everyone goes to bed tonight I’ll sneak out and come around on a horse -”

“Looking like the dashing rogue that could lead all the eligible bachelorettes astray?” Aziraphale added.

“Please, and leave this beauty who is to have my hand?”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, and blushed. Crowley reached a hand out, and after a moment Aziraphale offered her right hand. 

“May I?” Aziraphale nodded, and Crowley carefully slipped the ring from the other’s little finger, letting it stretch and become a touch slimmer. Aziraphale silently gave her other hand, and Crowley slid it on her ring finger. “There, a proper bride to be,” she breathed out.

Aziraphale stared at it, then over at Crowley. “And what would my fiance think, if he knew that you were the one that proposed, hm?”

“Ah,” she said, “he knows you’re in good hands with me.” Their eyes met, and Aziraphale broke first, looking away and taking her hands back.

"So what exactly is our backstory? Do we need to go in depth?" The grin Crowley gave her was worrying. "Crowley…"

"Calm down, it's not a bad cover. It's just a...stretch of the truth."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "Hm."

"I found you in Paris while you were in school. Before you took over your father's bookshop, of course," Crowley began.

"Of course."

"You fell for my good looks and I saved you from some bad men and fed you crepes." 

Aziraphale tsked. “Really, now!”

“I’m trying to be honest, isn’t that better than an outright fabrication?”

“Well - I barely even know any French, how am I going to explain that? Nearly every wealthy woman in this country knows French!” 

Crowley shrugged. “Say it was a religious affiliated school and you all preferred to practice Latin?” Aziraphale leveled him with a glare. “Well if everyone speaks it I’m sure they won’t single you out to read for them or anything.”

“I should hope not.” 

"Anyway," Crowley cleared her throat, "after I fed you, you realized how attractive I was."

"The glasses you've chosen this century are quite dashing, I suppose."

Crowley looked touched. "Thank you."

“And the red hair - so unique and fiery! Just like you, my love,” she blinked. “Is that how we’re meant to talk, do you think?”

“Yes, sure, of course,” Crowley said, while her brain was still replaying the way Aziraphale had said ‘my love’ while staring up at her. “Erm - only when I look like a man, of course. And when I'm the sister just treat me as a friend."

"A dear friend, yes." When Crowley didn’t speak again, Aziraphale picked up her book and resumed reading, only looking up when a stately Georgian style house came into view. Crowley made use of the time by staring at the angel’s profile until the cart finally pulled to a stop. 

The pair of them were helped down from the carriage and Crowley whispered a low, “leave this to me,” as they went up the steps of the house. 

Aziraphale wrapped an arm around Crowley’s and held on. “Of course, dear,” she whispered back. 

They were swept into a large parlor by the head maid, where the lady of the house was already waiting. Baroness Sophia Rivenhall was younger than her husband, who Crowley was actually acquainted with, but was nevertheless somewhere in her thirties, with dark hair and pale eyes that depicted someone of a strict disposition, but her ability to readily greet the pair of them made the demon think she was both overly trusting, friendly, and always looking forward to loud, boisterous parties that her husband often talked about at their estate. 

“You’ll have to forgive me, my lady,” Crowley said as she curtsied. “My brother, Sir Crowley, couldn’t leave London on time to accompany his fiancee, Miss Fell,” she gestured to the angel, who bowed as well. “He pleaded with me to accompany her. We sent a letter, but since the news came so soon, we weren’t sure if you were made aware of the situation. I do hope you don’t put yourself out in case accommodations are in high demand.” 

The Baroness pursed her lips for a moment; she would have had no idea that a third person would arrive from the Crowley-Fell party, because of course no letter had been sent, because Crowley wasn’t much bothered. If both members of the Crowley family would have to room together, then he would just be guaranteed a private room on the chance that they really did run out of room at the estate.

Their host’s face brightened then. “Well, I’ll have Rebecca - that’s our head maid - figure something out. We are going to be quite full for the next few weeks. So many people coming and going, and there’s games to see to, riding, and of course the dances. Please tell me you, your brother, and Miss Fell will attend!”

“Oh, of course,” Aziraphale said with a smile, “we wouldn’t miss it for the world!” 

The Baroness walked to a desk pushed against the wall and pulled a small cord, no doubt ringing for the maid wherever she might be in the bowels of the house. They exchanged pleasantries about the drive up, how London was this time of year, and so on, until Rebecca came to the door and was instructed by her mistress to find room for Crowley. 

Rebecca, the one who would have to do the actual work of shuffling things around and delegating the changing of sheets and moving of furniture, looked much less friendly. Crowley didn’t blame her. 

“Miss Fell, Miss Crowley,” the maid said, before promptly leading them out of the parlor, up to the second floor to some private quarters. “We do have a room for Miss Fell already prepared, we sent all the luggage up there, not realizing she had brought another guest.”

“My sincerest apologies,” Aziraphale said, “it was really very last minute.” She glanced back at Crowley, who shrugged.

“Be that as it may, the house will be quite filled up, so we should decide how to best host Miss Crowley.” Rebecca opened the door to a surprisingly small room, whose furnishings were much simpler and a bit older than what was seen downstairs. It was papered in a pale blue, and there was a bookshelf near the window, next to an overstuffed armchair that made a perfect reading nook; Crowley saw the angel’s eyes immediately slide over to it. 

“This is the blue room,” Rebecca said. “It may actually be best that you were placed here; it used to be where the nanny stayed before the Baron and Baroness’ children grew up.” She walked over to a door that was next to the head of the four poster bed and opened it. “This used to be the old schoolroom, but they cleaned it out some years ago. It is a bit drafty there unless you have a large fire, I’ll admit, but they did fashion up a decent enough bedroom in there, should Miss Crowley desire it.” 

“Oh my, adjoining?” Aziraphale asked. For some reason, the suggestion that they would be in sleeping quarters that were only separated by a measly wall made her hyper aware of herself, and the room at large; she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, as though something were about to happen that very instant, though she thought that she surely had no idea what that could be. 

Crowley once again found herself speaking without thinking. “Yes, sure, that’s fine.” Aziraphale looked at her. “I mean, the bags are already here, and we’ve inconvenienced everyone enough with my arrival.”

“Oh you couldn’t inconvenience anyone, my dear,” Aziraphale said. Which was a bold-faced lie because Crowley was both a demon whose actions of evil should at least touch on inconvenience, and because she could see Rebecca’s exasperated face in the nearby vanity mirror. 

“Very well, I’ll have someone come to light a fire and straighten out the room,” the head maid said, before bowing, and leaving them to it. 

Crowley promptly walked over to the bed and flopped down on it, letting out a sigh. 

“Really, Crowley?”

“It was a long ride, angel. And I’m going to have to ride a horse later!”

“You poor thing. Well. We are meant to freshen up, I assume.” They both snapped simultaneously, and Aziraphale gave a little wiggle, now that she didn’t feel like she had spent most of the day in a coach everything felt a bit more pleasant. 

“Guess we’ll just bide our time then. Not sure when exactly I’ll have time to talk to the people I need to reach.”

“Yes, and I suppose I should try to spread a bit of good, for equality’s sake.” 

They both stared at one another and didn’t move. 

“Do you think I can get some wine sent up?” Crowley asked. “For… medicinal purposes, you think?” 

Aziraphale settled into the chair and plucked out a book. “You’re welcome to try my dear. If they seem amenable, get a second glass for me, too.” 

“Alright.” 

It turned out that the Baroness made a habit of ingesting sherry for medicinal reasons, so the wine wasn’t argued about. The pair stayed in the room until dinner, where they went through a round of introductions amongst the guests that had already arrived, played some cards, and retired back to bed some hours later. Aziraphale helped Crowley sneak out of the estate, bid her good luck, and stayed up reading. 

About an hour later, she could hear the sound of horse hooves beating against the earth, drawing closer before stopping. She could imagine Crowley, now dressed as a travel-weary gentleman, being led to his room, and passing out for the night. 

-

“Did you hear that Sir Crowley arrived last night?” The Baroness asked her.

“Crowley? Oh yes, that had been his hope, once he was finished in London he would be right up.”

“Usually that means at least another day,” one of the women, Lady Iverley, said. She was a bit younger, and had taken quite an interest in Aziraphale’s professed fiance. “Not a few hours later!”

“He’s an adept businessman,” Aziraphale said, scanning through the book she was rereading to get to the good bits. “And a fast rider.” 

“Still, he must have been excited to see you!” she pressed. Aziraphale fought down a blush, then decided not to bother; it seemed to be the done thing. All the other women in the room were already married, after all. Maybe this was a bit of excitement for them.

“Well…,” Aziraphale took a sip of her drink. “That’s why he arrived so late, he took no stops. Crowley doesn’t like to keep me waiting for long.” Crowley was also lucky that ‘his’ fiancee was a quick liar. Sometimes.

“And yet he didn’t come down to breakfast!” Lady Wendover admonished. Aziraphale was sure she was more upset about not being able to meet him right away, and not that Aziraphale herself was kept waiting to see him, but she didn’t get the chance to respond. 

“An error on my part, I will admit,” Crowley said as he walked into the room. Aziraphale felt her lips pull into a smile and she graciously stood, putting her book on her chair. 

“Crowley, my dear, nonsense! I know how arduous that journey must have been for you.” She approached her, trying to read her face for a clue of what to do. “I’m so glad you could make it.” 

It turned out that all she had to do was stand there. Crowley walked over, and once she stood in front of the angel she reached out a hand and tilted Aziraphale’s head to the side. Before she could ask what the other was doing, soft lips were pressed to her cheek. “Glad to see I didn’t keep you waiting too long, angel,” she said, before pulling back.

It was barely a touch, barely anything, really, and yet once Crowley pulled away Aziraphale found herself gently touching the side of her face and letting out a small, high-pitched laugh. 

“Yes! Oh, yes, well, it is so good to see you, Crowley. I do hope you won’t fall under the weather from your trip.” 

“Is he prone to illness?” Lady Wendover asked, casting an eye at the pair.

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale said, still gazing fondly at the demon. “I mean, that is to say - not usually! Provided he takes in the country air. But it’s been so long, and the air in London, as you know, is - and not to mention the chill from the ride! Well, he may just need some bedrest, isn’t that right, dear?” she said, forcing herself to end her speech.

“...Yes, that is the long and short of it,” Crowley said, raising an eyebrow at her. “We shall see. For today though I’m alright, and was thinking of touring about the grounds.”

“The grounds, yes,” Aziraphale said, thinking that she might like some air. “They have the most beautiful flowers here.”

“Do they now? Well, that does remind me.” Crowley lifted her hand to show that she'd carried in flowers. Velvety rose blooms that were deep scarlet in color. "I thought you might like these for your hair, angel. A gift, to make up for my lateness." 

"Goodness, these are lovely!" Aziraphale replied, her tone sincere and truthful. She ran a gentle finger over the soft petals and gave Crowley a smile. "Thank you, dearest. I'll find one of the maids and have these put in -"

Crowley cleared her throat. "Now now, don't worry about that. I'll help." She gave Aziraphale a smirk and a nod. "I know how you get when your hair isn't done right."

Aziraphale huffed, but obliged as Crowley turned her by a hand on her shoulder. "I make a fleeting comment about the treatment of my hair once, and you somehow still remember it." 

Crowley chuckled, a sweet sound that flushed the angel's cheeks. "You managed to keep a pout on your face the entirety of our trip. That's when I learned to braid your hair, remember?" She did, in fact; it had been roughly 1000 years ago on a Norse vessel heading decidedly west for a very long time. 

Distantly Aziraphale could hear some of the other women giggling at their display. Was this scene too intimate? It wasn't as though Crowley had an arm around her waist, or a hand pressed to her bosom. She - well, he, she supposed - was only tucking flowers into her braided locks. She felt a few hairpins magically fall between Crowley’s fingers to help the flowers stay put.

"I wish my Albert could learn to fix up my hair like that," she heard Lady Wendover commenting. 

"Those are even fresh roses! He would have had to buy those before he left London. What a charmer that Mr. Crowley is." Aziraphale couldn’t stop herself from frowning. Was it normal for men these days to not be attentive to their loved one’s routines? 

Crowley turned her back again with another soft touch, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but flush as the other pressed a soft kiss to her temple. Oh goodness, that was -

“All done, my dear.” Crowley pulled back, and offered her an arm. “Shall we go? You can show me the gardens.”

"Ah, of course dearest." She led Crowley away, moving quickly to not catch any more chatter from the ladies.

"I think you might have caught a few eyes anyway, Crowley," she whispered, smiling politely at a maid as they stepped out into the garden. "They think you're quite a catch." 

Crowley snorted, her gaze staring out into the large courtyard. "Only because I would have to be, in order to court someone with high standards such as yours."

"Ah, yes. I understand," Aziraphale lied. "I would think that you being a horrible fiance would help in your favor, if you were wanting to keep the daughters away." Crowley made a choked noise that signaled that she had once again made some sort of mistake that led to her own problems down the line. 

"Yes. Well. The point is," Crowley started, then shut her mouth. She opened it again, then shut it once more. She began to walk, her hold on Aziraphale's arm bringing the angel with her. "You know. Men!"

"I...yes?"

"If I was a horrible fiance, then those single men would be after you. So, me being sweet on you is helping." Crowley pushed her glasses further up her nose, the flush on her cheeks exposed as she fidgeted. 

"If you insist," Aziraphale said. She eyed a trickling fountain that laid amongst the lilac bushes, and walked over to inspect her reflection in the water. "The roses, they were very thoughtful of you. You remembered how much I enjoy their color."

“Hm? Oh, yes, I stole them from the garden last night when I snuck out.”

“Crowley!”

“No one will miss them. Suit your hair better than a bush, anyway.” Crowley coughed.

“Anyway, I doubt it would really matter with the men. You know how they can be. In this form, being well, more sought after than not these days, it doesn’t matter what I tell bachelors, they never take no for an answer. It might be easier to keep customers away from my books than to keep some men from bothering me.” Aziraphale said it casually, with no more than an exasperated tsk to accompany her complaints. Rationally it was true enough; she was an angel, and if the men were being truly awful and unrelenting she could just make them forget about her, and transport them directly into the middle of the British Channel, or something to that effect.

However, Crowley was not thinking rationally at all. Instead she ventured a low, “Oh, is it that bad?”

“They are annoyingly persuasive - well, they try to be on the latter, but I know a wily serpent when I see one and they are definitely not it. I’m sure I’ve had a handful see me on the street and try to propose, as a matter of fact.”

“Marriage?” 

“Oh, of course, hasn’t that ever happened to you in this form? Well, I’m sure it was because I was out alone and they thought I was just a particularly well shaped lady of the night, or some such, but really!” She hummed, looking at where they were walking. “Come to think of it, I’m sure more asked me to be their mistress instead. Just awful, don’t you think?”

Crowley's teeth clicked in her mouth. "Incredibly." Aziraphale wasn't sure if she imagined the grip on her arm giving a tug, or if she herself moved closer to the demons side. Either way, she found herself catching the demons gaze around the edge of her glasses.

“To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure if we’re allowed to be out here alone. We stepped out before anyone had time to make a fuss. I can’t quite remember if you have to wait until you’re married… if the rest of the house finds out, who knows what they’d think of me?” She let out a laugh, not really that bothered by it. Crowley’s frown, however, only settled more deeply on her face. 

“You know how strict engagements are these days, in the eyes of everyone here we’re married sans the paperwork.”

“I don’t think it’s quite that fixed, Crowley. Besides, women can break of the engagement at any time,” she gave her a sly look. 

“Fine. I’ll just go back to my normal dress if any of them try to say anything. Chaperone or whatever these idiots expect from us.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Yes, of course. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. As far as I can tell, I’m their main source of entertainment until that ball a fortnight from now.”

“Ugh! A fortnight. We have to wait that long for something entertaining to happen?” 

“You could always see if there’s a hunt going on…” Crowley wrinkled her nose. The only thing worse than riding an animal was trying to shoot it. 

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and it will rain all week. Just spend most of it in bed.” 

“There’s always the chance.”

-

The chance turned out to be near 100 percent. The next two days were overcast, with a fine drizzle coming down in a constant, gloomy haze. Strong winds rattled the trees and made eerie noises as the gusts rushed down the fireplaces. Aziraphale was rereading Frankenstein to fit the mood. 

The other guests, however, were not quite as apathetic to the weather. After breakfast the group meandered to a large drawing room, which may have been chosen due to its extremely large fireplace which was stoked and flaming. The Baron and Baroness Rivenhall seemed to be doing their best to keep their guests in high spirits, though Lady Iverley, Lady Wendover and their husbands were often casting gloomy looks outside. 

“I hope this won’t last for too long,” Baroness Sophia Rivenhall said, finally giving over to the attitude in the room. “It could make travel just awful.”

“We are prone to occasional bouts of weather,” the Baron replied diplomatically. He was sat near the fireplace taking snuff, as he couldn’t quite stand by the mantle without getting scorched. “I imagine every Englishman can manage to get through it.” 

“Yes, but it could be perilous to drive through,” Lady Wendover added. “Clive’s cousin, oh, tell him the story.” And so Lord Wendover began weaving a tale of a time his younger cousin broke his leg while out riding, and nearly perished, and never walked quite the same after that. This of course sparked a range of tales to be told of different tragedies that had befallen family members, sometimes related to the weather, sometimes not. 

Aziraphale continued reading her book, and didn’t come out of it until Lady Wendover leaned over and whispered, “Did Sir Crowley fall ill? He only took coffee this morning and ran right back upstairs.”

“Oh, yes, he didn’t want to be rude, but he told me that he wasn’t feeling quite the thing.”

“Should we check in on him?” Aziraphale, who was getting the impression that Lady Wendover was quite the busybody, merely shook her head.

“He is quite fine being looked after by his sister. I’m sure she’ll come down and tell us how he is by lunch.”

And by lunch, Miss Crowley was indeed sitting next to Aziraphale, poking at some of the vegetables and avoiding the roast duck. “It’s just a chill,” she said. “I had a maid bring up a hot water bottle.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have to play nurse for him,” the Baroness said. “You might get sick yourself! We have people to tend to him if that’s needed.”

“He… doesn’t enjoy being coddled by the servants, I’m afraid,” she said after a moment. “He’s always been sickly, but it’s not very well becoming on a man, as you all know. He doesn’t enjoy being seen that way. Of course, I am only just a bit heartier than him, and am the only one who gets to see him that way.” 

“And it certainly is charitable of you, Miss Crowley, but do remember to look after yourself. I declare you’ve already lost some of your color.” Crowley just smiled and reached for a glass of wine. 

“Perhaps. It may just be the lighting.” 

-

“Is something wrong, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, looking up from her book. Crowley was in her room, brushing her hair in the vanity, chair shoved dangerously close to the fire that was going. 

“Wrong?”

“Usually you’d retire to your own room. I mean, if we were only seen as soon to be sister in laws, I imagine.” 

“Really? I’d imagine it would be like a slumber party every night. Or are you saying we wouldn’t get along at all? Am I the jealous, on the shelf spinster?” Aziraphale smiled, and closed her book. 

“Oh no, we’re thick as thieves, you and I. I expect my husband might even get jealous. Shall I plait your hair then? You did such a wonderful job of mine the other day.” 

“If your dear husband allows it, of course,” Crowley replied. Aziraphale took the brush from Crowley and went behind her, leaning down to see both their faces in the mirror.

“My husband is definitely not here, and I say what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” She straightened up and began to brush Crowley’s long hair back. Her locks were still smooth and curling, though running a brush through them tamed their charming wildness enough that Aziraphale could start separating strands at the top of her head, creating a tight plait and gathering more hair as she went. 

She watched in the mirror as the demon’s eyes started to slip shut, a small smile on her face as Aziraphale did her work. The angel’s fingers were soft and careful as she untangled knots and ensured the look was smooth and perfect, even though no one would see it but them. When she produced a small silk ribbon - black - and tied it at the end of the braid, Crowley had to hold herself back from asking her to take it all out and do it again. 

Aziraphale rested her free hand on Crowley’s shoulder and grinned at their reflection. “Hm? Not too bad, if I do say so myself.”

Crowley’s eyes opened and oh, oh goodness that expression. Her gaze was warm, uncovered eyes playing off the gentle glow of the candles around them, her eyelids low and sleepy. It did odd things to the angel’s chest that she wasn’t sure what to do with. Then Crowley’s eyes vanished from the mirror, as she tipped her head back to look up at Aziraphale, the long line of her throat visible in the reflection in Aziraphale’s periphery as Crowley’s eyes met hers. 

“Couldn’t do better myself,” Crowley murmured. A moment passed, then two. Aziraphale felt she ought to do something, but for the life of her, couldn’t say what. 

“You should get your rest soon, angel,” the demon continued after another pause. “Early to bed, early to rise.”

“I’m not one for sleeping, really,” Aziraphale said, thinking she would finish her book and maybe rest for an hour or two once the candles burnt down. 

Crowley shrugged, and stood. “I’m too used to the routine. Go mad if I stopped all of a sudden.” She stretched her arms above her head for emphasis. Aziraphale couldn’t help her gaze from straying lower for a moment before she shook her head. 

“Well, don’t let me keep you awake, dearest.” Aziraphale set the brush down on the vanity. “I’ll see you bright and early, for the trip tomorrow.” The rest of the guests had claimed that a trip to the nearby village would be just the thing - it was apparently rather quaint and a favorite spot for the hosts. 

“Yes, right, ‘course. I’ll see you then, angel,” Crowley said, walking to the door that separated their rooms. When she opened it, a chill hit Aziraphale’s skin, and made the fire temporarily shrink down, then the door closed. Aziraphale stared at it a moment before climbing back into bed, curling up under the covers and opening her book again.


	3. The Bed

The village was about half an hour’s ride from the estate, though so well hidden by a line of trees that Aziraphale wouldn’t have guessed such a bustling set of streets existed. Many women in aprons and children playing in the street stopped to stare at the pair of large coaches that were pulling through; a few of them even sent them jaunty waves, and Aziraphale couldn’t resist waving back. Beside her, Crowley was still presenting as her fiance’s sister, her brother allegedly too sick to come out. Crowley, however, appeared drawn, and in the sunlight, she was indeed looking pale. Aziraphale wondered if she had trouble sleeping last night. 

They stopped off at a fine looking inn, where a stable boy came out to talk to the groomsmen and direct them to a holding area for the carriages. Baron Rivenhall was busy pointing out to them the many little attractions the village had to offer; a small lending library that he himself had created for the education of the villagers, many of whom toiled directly on his own land; the brewery that made cider produced by his land’s apples, and a tailor that was run by an extremely talented seamstress; one so good that the Baroness would occasionally offer her patronage, as she was able to reproduce the French styles quite accurately from nothing more than a few fashion plates. They would have a late lunch at the very inn they stopped at before returning home, and hopefully beat out the second storm that was looming in the distance. 

Crowley and Aziraphale parted from the group not long after they started walking. The rest of the group had sights to see, and both the angel and demon had been on Earth long enough that visiting a new place rarely inspired the desire to rush off to check out the new thing. They had learned that most sites tended to stick around for a length of time, and if it didn’t, there would usually be something else just as interesting to replace it. Except for the Library of Alexandria, which could still get Aziraphale riled up at the right time. 

They did, however, stop inside a bakery that offered delicious looking apple tarts as per Aziraphale’s request - which in this case was her seeing the treats in the window and looking imploringly at Crowley until the woman relented. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to have a bite of one, dear? These are actually quite lovely.” Aziraphale asked as they continued their walk down the street. The air around them had a dampness to it from the earlier rains, and the ground was still slippery in spots. Nothing a good apple tart couldn’t fix, of course. Aziraphale had even taken off her gloves to eat it without messing up the silk.

“I know you’re only offering to be polite, angel. Go ahead and enjoy,” her friend answered. Aziraphale huffed, quickening her pace to meet that of the demon’s.

“Oh, please would you at least try a nibble? I know you don’t like most sweet things, but this one is a bit tart as well. You might enjoy it.” They came to a stop in front of a shop, and Aziraphale held out a torn off piece of her pastry. “Just a bite?”

Crowley huffed and moved a few steps, back and forth, as though giving in to Aziraphale’s preference this time was a terrible hardship. But, like every time, she relented a moment later. “Fine.” 

Aziraphale raised her fingers to Crowley’s slightly pursed lips. “Here, just a taste,” she goaded. 

Crowley leaned forward the last inch and opened her mouth. Aziraphale’s fingers accidentally brushed her lips, and she nearly gasped when she felt Crowley’s  _ tongue  _ slide along the pad of her forefinger before pulling back, chewing slowly, like she was trying to savor the taste; something she only did with the finer wines they came across. 

“Isn’t horrible,” Crowley finally said after a moment. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. Aziraphale felt her cheeks flush as she watched. “Is there anywhere else you wish to stop?”

“Em,” Aziraphale frantically cast her eyes around them. There were a few shops on this street; the grocer’s, the butcher - “Oh! The - the seamstress the Baroness mentioned,” Aziraphale was already marching towards it, wrestling with herself as to whether she should forget the last minute or hide it away forever instead. “We should at least see what’s inside.” 

Crowley fell in step behind her as they walked, and soon they came to the entrance of the building. She tucked her bag under one arm so she could push open the door a bit easier. Inside the walls were packed with a variety of fabrics: cotton, muslin, silk, wool, of a variety of colors and occasional patterns. Most women in the village probably could sew just fine on their own, but it appeared that this shop was focused in the highest of quality, and fashion items difficult to create unless you were especially talented with a needle. Crowley could practically feel the way Aziraphale’s eyes lit up as she took in the beautiful fabrics and some lace patterns that were displayed to give clients an idea of the owner’s talents. 

Aziraphale began to take a step forward, when suddenly her hand was gripped firmly. “Dear? Is something the matter?”

“You’ve got to watch your step, angel.” Crowley placed another hand on Aziraphale’s waist and helped her down the step she hadn’t noticed in her rush to explore the room.

“Oh! Silly me.” She carefully stepped down into the shop, proper. “Thank you.” 

“Not a problem.” Suddenly, Crowley pressed a kiss to her knuckles, the motion startling a soft giggle out of Aziraphale before she could stop herself. 

"Dear, I think you have your etiquette a bit confused." At Crowley’s concerned gaze she received in return, she lifted her hand and pointed at the dark swatch of red left across her skin. 

“Oh,” Crowley replied. “Must have been lost in my thoughts for a moment there.”

The sound of footsteps arriving had them both taking a step away from the other, Crowley carefully clearing her throat as Aziraphale tucked her own hand from the stranger’s view.

The seamstress in question was dressed in a beautiful white gown more befitting a gentlewoman of higher status, but was most likely done to show off her own skill. She was older, with lines around her eyes. Crowley could imagine long nights embroidering gowns by firelight. 

“Can I help you two ladies?” she asked, giving them a slight bow out of respect.

“Oh, we’re guests of the Baroness,” Aziraphale said. “We all came to the village for the morning, and your shop came so highly recommended.” 

“Ah yes, they always begin having guests this time of year. There’s a ball soon, isn’t there? Shall you be needing dresses?” Crowley and Aziraphale shared a glance; Aziraphale thought back to her massive and varied trunk of clothes that had, only through magic, been able to fit everything she thought she may have needed.

“...Not particularly,” she said. 

“We were just thinking of having a look around, you see. Her fiance - my brother - was not able to come along. Maybe we could look for something for him?”

“Ah, a gift? That could do nicely. Let’s see. If you want something small I do have plenty of cravats, handkerchiefs - and it can all be custom made and delivered to the house, provided you aren’t leaving too soon. Suits I can also do, though unless you have his measurements on hand I couldn’t say how good it would really be, you understand.” 

“Ah, yes, perhaps not, then.” Aziraphale said. Her eyes tracked to a pair of stockings that were embroidered with a matching image of doves flying at the ankle. 

“Or, if something else has caught your eye, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind a different kind of gift.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Crowley replied automatically. Before starting. “Er, that is, he is a man who appreciates, er, fine… craftsmanship.” The seamstress raised an unimpressed eyebrow. 

“Fine craftsmanship on a fine leg, I’m sure.” She wandered over to the display. “I do custom designs, of course. Any material, any color, and any design, if you’d like.” 

“This pair with the doves is quite lovely,” Aziraphale said softly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Crowley?”

“Um,” Crowley answered, who was still thinking of the  _ fine leg  _ part of the seamstress’s quip.

“Oh, we could find you a pair as well,” the seamstress said. “It’s good to have help from your fellow lady, opinions and such.”

“Oh, yes! I know my friend here gravitates towards red and black. Something more… dramatic, less of a pastoral scene.” 

“Really?” the seamstress asked, already tugging out a bolt of deeply dyed red fabric. 

“Well, yes. She knows me quite well,” Crowley admitted. That  _ was  _ a rather nice shade of red. It was difficult to get dark colors and still stay in vogue these days. 

“Oh, and imagine little flowers on the heel of these,” Aziraphale continued, getting Crowley’s attention again. “Maybe in a range of colors, like a miniature painting.” 

“Don’t make the poor woman toil for a month over a pair of your stockings, angel,”

“Oh, I have done much worse, believe you me,” the seamstress said. 

“See? It’s fine,” Aziraphale said smugly. “Now come, come, figure out what style you want, dear.” After arguing over the finer points of the two commissions, the seamstress declared she would have both of them sent to the house in a handful of days. They paid the first half of the bill - Aziraphale granting a rather large tip, which rather diminished the point of not paying everything upfront, not that she ever minded - and the two of them stepped back outside, Aziraphale mindful of the step. 

It was, unfortunately, beginning to drizzle when they got onto the street. “Oh dear,” Aziraphale muttered. “How far away is the inn?”

“Not far, I’m sure we’ll be fine,” said Crowley, who ought to know better by now, as just as she said that the heavens seemed to open up and dump a heavy stream of cold rain over them. 

“Shit,” Crowley hissed, “Never mind then - just run!”

They both took off in a quick jog, Aziraphale grabbing at Crowley’s hand to make sure that they didn’t lose the other in the harsh downpour. By the time they had made it back to the inn’s entrance they were both soaked to the bone. They were cold, the layers of clothing stuck to their skin uncomfortably, and everyone would immediately start fretting over them. It was truly terrible. 

They couldn’t help but laugh. 

“You cursed our luck, dear!” Aziraphale laughed as they pushed through the front doors.

“Hey now, that implies I ever had any luck in the first place!”

“Whoa there!” Baron Rivenhall was nearest the door, eyes wide when he took in both of them. “You both are drenched!” 

“We just got a bit wet, but you two - poor things!” the Baroness added, sweeping them both towards the large hearth. “Come, sit here. You’ll catch your death otherwise. Oh, should we go home now?” 

“We’ll be fine,” Aziraphale said, “there’s no need to cut the day short - we ought to have lunch.”

“Yes, lunch,” Crowley said, who was huddled in her armchair, her sunglasses slipping just enough to show her yellow gaze set amusedly on Aziraphale.

“Well, if you’re both quite sure... “ their hostess said.

“Get them some sherry, and they’ll be just fine!” her husband said, passing by and towards the other guests. 

“Sure, sherry, if you please,” Crowley said. When the other ladies and gentlemen in the party turned away, she took out her hair and started to wring it out onto the floor. Aziraphale scoffed. 

“Really, my dear. Must you do that  _ here? _ ”

“Just trying not to catch my death, angel.” Aziraphale rolled her eyes at the dramatics, and leaned closer, putting her clammy hands out towards the fire.

-

Crowley may have actually caught her death. Or discorporation. At the very least she’d be shivering too much to actually sleep tonight. Despite changing as soon as she got through the door of Aziraphale’s bedroom - snapping her fingers and drying all her clothes - she still looked cold and miserable. Claiming she needed a rest, she disappeared off into her room until Aziraphale knocked on the door to rouse her for dinner. They sat next to each other, as per usual, and when the Baron made a toast to a successful day despite the weather, their hands accidentally brushed when clinking glasses - and her hands were as frigid as the ice block that was currently out on the table to display the prawns that made up the first course. Her comments in the drawing room after their meal dwindled to nothing aside from a quiet request for some tea, which she downed rather quickly as she sat near the fire under an afghan. Aziraphale was flipping through a book on the other side of the sofa, listening to the Baroness’ daughters who had been at a neighboring estate until that evening. 

“ _ And  _ we saw Sir Doran on the path today. He has the most beautiful chestnuts,” said Violet, the younger of the two.

“Sir Doran is a gamer. I heard he spends all of the Season in town in bawdy houses, playing faro and the like,” said the older sister, Josephine. They were both quite pretty, with dark hair and pale skin like their mother. It became quite apparent that Josephine was the one with the chillier temper, though. She had nearly snubbed Aziraphale when formal introductions had been made before the meal. 

“Well a man can have his fun, so long as it doesn’t amount to any real money wasted,” Violet hedged. “Father’s known to bet a bit on a game of cards, you know. Even we’ve done it - for biscuits, of course,” Violet said, catching Lady Wendover’s eye. 

“I just think - ” Josephine started, in the tone of voice that suggested she was about to state her thought as though it were universal law, when Crowley stood up. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if she had meant to interrupt for inconvenience’s sake or if it was entirely incidental. “I’m feeling a bit worn out. I think I’ll head to bed. Goodnight, all.” She gave a quick wave and walked out of the room. 

Josephine sniffed, after a moment. “She didn’t have to interrupt.”

“Do you think she’s ill?” Lady Wendover said, eyes on the door. “We ought to send someone up -”

“I’ll see,” Aziraphale said, rising as well. She had been worried about Crowley all day. The fact that she was providing a decent exit strategy from the other ladies without appearing rude was just a lucky happenstance. 

“I meant a maid, just, Lady Fell.”

“Yes, well. Lady Crowley is a dear friend of mine. Stubborn too,” she added, “I won’t subject a maid to one of her moods. Excuse me. The day has been lovely. I’ll see you all tomorrow.” And with that she beat a hasty retreat upstairs, not caring what any of the women thought of her for it. 

Crowley was in her room still, leaning her head against the mantle, staring blankly down at the flames. Aziraphale suspected the only reason nothing caught on fire because the flames knew better than to try. Crowley had hastily plaited her own hair and was standing in her white chemise, wool stockings still on her feet and arms tightly crossed over her body. 

“Crowley?” the demon didn’t answer. Aziraphale approached her, and after a moment, put a hand on her back. She could feel how cold her skin was through the thin linen layer, the way she was still shaking, and Crowley jolted, like a cat who had been roused from its sleep. 

“Crowley, dear, are you sure you’re alright?” 

The tremors running down her friends back continued, even as she shook her head. “I’m fine angel, nothing that a demon can’t handle.”

“You seem as though you’re still cold,” Aziraphale argued. She reached out a hand and placed it on Crowley’s shoulder, wincing. “You’re freezing under my hand!”

“It’s nothing,” Crowley hissed. Her teeth chattered in her mouth. “I’ll be fine once I’m buried in my blankets.”

“How many blankets do you have in there?”

Crowley sniffed. “Enough of them.”

“Then why aren’t you under there instead of standing in my room? Does your room not get warm enough for you?” Crowley didn’t respond. Aziraphale recalled the chill that had burst into the room last night when Crowley went to bed. And the housekeeper herself had said the room was drafty. Making up her mind, Aziraphale crossed the room and opened the adjoining door.

She gasped, goosebumps breaking out on her arms. "Crowley! It's freezing in here!"

"It's fine, really."

"It's much too drafty… look! The fire can hardly stay lit! No wonder you've been miserable. And you had to sit in wet clothes for over an hour, oh dear..." It didn't help that Crowley tended to be more susceptible to the cold than Aziraphale. Whether that was from being borne in Hellfire or some such drama or from being of a more reptilian persuasion, or just poor circulation, Aziraphale didn’t know. What she did know what that Crowley wouldn’t be going back to her room tonight. Shutting the door, she turned to look at her friend again. "Why don't you go to the other room you have?"

"Er. I've been keeping the staff away from it by having them think it's just a broom closet. If I sleep in it that will be a lot more difficult to pull off the switching identity thing,” she admitted, glancing to the side. 

"I - alright. Well, I'd offer to switch, but that room is frankly on par with the arctic." A plan was nearly solidified in Aziraphale’s mind now, she just had to go for it.  _ Be brave,  _ she thought, wringing her hands.

"It's fine, angel, I can handle it. Let me just -"

Aziraphale took a fortifying breath, “You can sleep with me instead."

"...What."

“We can share the bed, there’s enough room for us both.” Aziraphale made her way back over to Crowley. “It’s very cozy, I think you would enjoy it.”

“An angel cozying up to a demon in bed,” Crowley hissed as she passed over the ‘z’. From the chill or for the dramatics, Aziraphale wasn’t sure. “Won’t that be a bit too forward for those pigeons you call your bosses?”

“Oh, really now Crowley. What a strange time to bring that up.” Aziraphale stepped to the other side of the room and started to carefully remove the accessories from her own hair. “We’ve kissed cheeks and hands and hugged many times already, I highly doubt that they’re paying attention to me at the moment. And there’s no significant miracles involved that would make them curious.”

“Hm,” Crowley replied. Aziraphale felt her gaze as she began to carefully brush and fix her own hair for bed.

“If you’re unsure because you sleep in the nude -” the angel started, trying to keep the slyness out of her voice.

“What? I don’t do that!” 

“Then we’ll be fine.” Aziraphale snapped her fingers and put herself into her own nightgown. Catching Crowley’s doubtful expression, she gestured to herself, “Putting a fresh chemise on shouldn’t arouse any interest from anyone in Heaven.”

“One would hope.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Do you have a preferred side? I’d like to be closer to the fire if that would be alright. I was wanting to get in some more reading tonight, unless of course you think you’d be too cold. I could always light a few candles...”

Crowley continued to stare at her, making no move to come closer to the bed. 

“You’ll be so warm and comfortable under here, I promise!” Aziraphale slid under the blankets as she tried to persuade Crowley to do the same. “I’ll even let you touch me with those frozen feet of yours.” 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“I do - quite know that, I mean,” she said carefully. “And yet I’m offering anyway, so do get in, my dear.” 

Crowley sighed heavily, but she finally began to make her way over to the bed. Aziraphale lifted up the thick goose down duvet and Crowley almost dived under, quickly taking up almost the entire thing before settling herself underneath. Her eyes peered up, and Aziraphale laughed as the demon kept half her face below the duvet.

“Are we cuddling under here as well?” Crowley asked, her brows raised as though she was planning to let Aziraphale in on some joke. Aziraphale felt herself flush.

“Well, if it will help you, then yes,” she said, before turning towards the nightstand to contemplate which book to start in on first. 

“Good.” Immediately a leg was thrown over Aziraphale’s thighs and two arms embraced her sides. She let out a yell - not from displeasure, but because Crowley really was  _ freezing.  _

“Crowley! I let you in here and you - get off you - you -”

“Absolute demon?” Crowley said, grinning sharply up at her.

“ _ Yes!”  _

“Maybe. Once I’ve warmed up.” Aziraphale gave a shiver of protest but didn’t actually push Crowley away. She had wanted to help, and it seemed to have been a success - Crowley had barely made one smarmy joke or foolish prank since they arrived. She must have been freezing, at least on some level, this entire trip. Poor thing. 

Crowley shifted a bit and Aziraphale held still as the demon got more comfortable against her. The cold touch was almost unbearable, but she could already feel the other’s skin start to warm up against her. It was, well, distracting honestly. The slippery demon had managed to press her leg between Aziraphale’s thighs, keeping them open as she pressed as close as she could. The frosty tip of her nose made its home against her neck and soon became just a soft warm pressure against her.

“This is almost unfair,” Crowley hissed against her throat. The sensation sent a shiver down Aziraphale’s spine. “You’ve been so  _ warm  _ this entire time. I should have crawled in here the first night!”

“W-Well,” Aziraphale started. Would she have let Crowley stay with her then? Probably not - she would have thought that there was no  _ reason  _ for them to be close like this. But that wasn’t quite right. Crowley being given an overly drafty room during a cold snap was more of an  _ excuse _ , and she knew it, deep down. After all, no other angel in Heaven would be doing this, flimsy reason or not. 

Crowley shifted, letting out a pleased sigh; her leg slid up another inch; her socked toes skimming Aziraphale’s calf and her knee was - well. Higher than that. The angel swallowed.

“Well,” she tried again, “you can always stay here tomorrow. And the night after that. For as long as you want to stay warm, you see. Country life is difficult enough without being miserably cold, after all.” 

“You’ve got that right,” Crowley grumbled. “If I get asked one more time about my ‘sickly dear brother’ and if I want to play cards, I’m going to open my jaw like an actual snake and eat someone's hat.”

That startled a laugh out of Aziraphale. “That would be a sight,” she said. “Don’t fret. There should be more guests arriving any day now. Soon the house will be so full you can just slip away with no one the wiser.” 

One of Crowley’s hands reached up to catch a strand of Aziraphale’s wayward hair, curling it around her finger. “Will you slip away with me too?” 

“I-If that’s what’s necessary,” Aziraphale said. She wondered if Crowley could feel her pulse racing. Would she say anything about it? Oh, if she asked why it was sped up she’d discorporate on the spot - “I imagine an engaged couple sneak around together often enough.”

“Oh. Yes. Right.” Crowley made a soft noise, almost a yawn, and seemed to sink even deeper into Aziraphale’s side. “Alright, enough with the pillow talk. I’m going to sleep now. Goodnight, angel.”

“Ah, yes, very good. Goodnight, Crowley, sleep well. Don’t let the - ah, I should stop, shouldn’t I?” she glanced at Crowley for confirmation, but the demon already appeared to be asleep. “Right. Yes.” She glanced at her nightstand, but accommodating Crowley meant that she wasn’t sitting up in her preferred reading position, and reaching for a book would probably jostle Crowley awake. Maybe a miracle was in order...

She laid there, debating for a time, when Crowley shifted again, arms tightening around her before loosening again, her body shifting and turning so a part of her was now just on top of Aziraphale, her eyelashes fluttering against the angel’s collarbone, a surprising softness pressing against her stomach.

Aziraphale, not a complete idiot, felt herself nearly break out into a sweat at the realization that they were pressed so closely, so intimately together. She stared up at the ceiling, wanting to pray and also definitely not wanting to attract any sort of celestial power to  _ this  _ scene she was currently in. 

But Crowley was finally warm again, and past the crackling of the slowly dying fire there was the rain and the wind, and Aziraphale definitely wouldn’t be able to reach her books now. She closed her eyes. 

Somehow, shutting her eyes made everything worse, amplified. She was intensely aware of Crowley’s light breathing, the sweet smell of her hair, the softness of her skin. There was a feeling of burning in the pit of her stomach, and like a hot coal dropped into a bowl of ice it was only sinking lower, leaving a gnawing hole in its wake. She shifted restlessly, but with Crowley on top of her there was little to do but try to concentrate on something, anything else but Crowley herself, which was nigh impossible, truly. So instead she remained there, not quite sleeping, and burning quietly while the fire nearby smoldered down to ashes. 


	4. Jealously and Intrigue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did we slightly mess up the traditional methods of referring to one's peers in regency England? Maybe. But is there pining to make up for it??? Yes.

Crowley woke the next day with her face pressed into Aziraphale’s décolletage and had to take several moments to contemplate how in the world she ended up  _ here.  _ In an existential way of course, but even more importantly, the literal sense. 

Apparently, a demon could have an unrelenting well of affection for a particularly kind (and sometimes dastardly) angel since the advent of written language and not do a damned thing about it, but the moment they went on a little countryside vacation and stayed in close proximity for more than a day straight they literally fell into bed together. It was absolutely maddening; she would have screamed if it wouldn’t have roused the angel dozing under her. 

Instead she took a deep breath through her nose, Aziraphale’s scent filling her with warmth. It was such a unique scent, an amalgamation of impressions, ideas, less of the real thing. Her skin was always fresh and clean, yet she carried the sense of having sprung up out of nature itself. Dark, damp earth, mulched leaves, budding rose bushes and pomegranate seeds crushed in one’s fist. The angelic aura she carried around her left Crowley to imagine a holiness that was rubbed into her skin, leaving behind a trace of sweet-sour acidity, like biting into a lemon and chasing it with icing sugar. Something with zest, a tang that lingered. She had spent the last thousand years imagining how it would feel to run her tongue up from her breasts to the little dip in her throat and she just  _ woke up like this?  _

“Are you alright down there?” Oh no, the angel was awake. 

“S'fine,” Crowley said after a moment. “Am I crushing you?” She would move if she was hurting her angel, but until then, well. She was warm, and Aziraphale had an arm tucked around her, keeping her close. She cast her mind to last night; everything that happened was under a chilly haze; it was hard to do much of anything if you couldn’t even get your body to regulate heat properly. And that had been how Aziraphale had let her stay  _ here.  _ No wonder Aziraphale took up pouting with so much frequency - that sort of guilt-tripping and looking sorry enough obviously worked. 

“You’re doing no such thing, dear. You’d made an odd noise and I thought you were catching a chill again.” Still, it was morning, and Aziraphale slowly sat up, and Crowley reluctantly rolled out of Aziraphale’s arms. Ah well. Maybe this time in the year 4000 this would happen again. A demon could hope, right? “I hope that was alright for you. Nothing too uncomfortable?”

“Slept like a dream.” Aziraphale smiled down at her and ran a hand through her hair, most of it having fallen out of the hasty plait she had put it into the night before. 

“I’m glad to hear it. Now, I do believe we should get up now. And it’s been some days - perhaps my  _ fiance  _ should make an appearance?” Aziraphale got out of bed and stretched her arms over her head. Sitting at the nearby armchair, she found two stockings to roll up her legs. Crowley watched as her porcelain-pale skin slowly disappeared underneath a light blue cotton that was subsequently fastened with a silk ribbon. The chemise came down again and the last sliver of the angel’s thigh was gone. 

“I suppose your fiance shall come by, yes,” Crowley yawned, wiggling her way out of the bed. She tossed the duvet back onto it, but made no move to straighten it up. A small annoyance for someone that wasn’t her. 

“Ah lovely, I’ve missed the dear fellow.” Crowley wasn’t sure how deeply to look into that statement, and she was also still a bit tired so she let it drop.

“If you give me a few moments we can head down together for -” she glanced at the clock, “lunch?”

“Oh my!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “I didn’t realize how late it was. Oh, I  _ do  _ hope no one came in to check on us and found us like that...”

Crowley shrugged. “Wouldn’t be hard to change their minds a bit. Did they see two ladies laying together? Or a woman having an intimate moment with her sickly fiance?”

“Oh, yes, well, I’m sure some of the guests would just say that’s the quickest way to recovery, or some nonsense.” She had already done up her stays and was putting on a new dress, the movements done so quickly there was little need for a miracle, unlike Crowley, who never bothered putting on or taking off clothes if it could be helped. Snapping her fingers, she was in breeches again, and her hair was considerably shorter than before. 

“Ready to go, angel?” Crowley asked, holding out her arm for the other to take. She wanted to pull the angel close, never let her out of her sight. Instead, she led her out of the room and down to the others, and after being greeted by their guests, Sir Crowley was soon ushered off to some activity with the other gentlemen, and Aziraphale was left alone again.

As Aziraphale had mentioned the night before, there were indeed more people joining them at the estate. Crowley hated it, honestly. As a demon, she loved any chance of people leading themselves into sins. Gluttony, greed, pride, but usually because those things tended to come with some modicum of entertainment. Rich people lounging about, and going on about how rich they were? Boring. These bunch weren’t interested in doing anything except playing cards, hunting, and gossip.

The main positive was that she was finally surrounded by a score of wealthy gentlemen who were either land-rich or enterprising industrialists, so she could finally get down to the entire reason why she had come here in the first place. That mission to cause widespread discord from Head Office - and what could be better for widespread discord than a bunch of toffs losing their money on bogus investments - seemed eons away.

“I hear you’re an investor yourself, Sir Crowley,” one of the newcomers said. Now that there was more of an audience, the Baron had decided to show off his billiard room by inviting them all after lunch to play a game.

“Oh, yes, lots of things, really. Properties in Bloomsbury, cotton mills in Manchester, shipping in Liverpool, even a steam locomotive company that says it can connect the two.” That produced a good deal of conversation amongst the men, talking about the possibility of train travel, the dreariness of the north, and of course the inferiority of Bloomsbury compared to the ever fashionable Mayfair. It only took half an hour before men started to talk about foreign countries worth investment. 

“There’s so many little republics that only export sugar and bananas, it’s hard to keep track!” One of the men said, taking his shot and sinking a ball. “Wouldn’t be surprised if half of them were made up by the French.” Behind his sunglasses, Crowley’s eyes widened in excitement, and her mind raced at a near light speed until she was talking, voice smooth as oiled silk

“Oh yes, like Poyais? Wouldn’t believe that place existed until my cousin went there to see it himself.”

All Crowley needed to do after that was lightly adjust a few encyclopedias and the atlas in the Baron’s library, nudge the world maps in the house a smidge, and the rest was history. 

By the time the gentlemen were interested in Poyais and some other shady Baronries in Latin America that may or may not actually exist, Crowley was back in high spirits. They finished their game and went to another parlor for celebratory drinks. As usual, the men had typical conversation patterns: games, money, and women. Most of the new guests were young bachelors, a few complaining about the whirlwind of the Season and hoping that a more intimate party would be a better occasion to meet an eligible lady. Crowley listened to the complaints while she downed an increasing number of drinks. 

“And what of Sir Crowley? He hasn’t complained about the Season at all.” Crowley obligingly turned to face the group of men, but didn’t have the chance to reply - the Baron slapped a friendly hand on her back and nearly made her drop her glass.

“You haven’t heard? Surely it was in the papers in town! Sir Crowley is engaged to the lovely Lady Fell! She and his sister came up here just before he arrived the very same day.” 

“The same day? Why not go together?”

“I had business ventures to close before I could come up.”

“And you were only a few hours behind?” another man asked. Crowley debated whether she should just say she rode fast, but decided that would be an invitation to a race, and she was decidedly not about to do that, so she just shrugged. 

The lack of answer started a knowing hush to fall over the room. Finally, another man smirked. “Ah, so she’s just the kind of lady that you race to see.” 

Oh. No. That was even worse. “One could say that.” The men groaned at the lack of gossip. One of them appealed to the Baron his opinion of Lady Fell. 

“Well, she is most beautiful, I must say. Long blonde hair, light eyes, a fine figure, wouldn’t you agree, Crowley?” She gave a reluctant nod. “Friendly, certainly. A bit… overinvested in books, perhaps?”

“She runs a bookshop, left to her by her father,” Crowley said immediately.

“Is that all she does when it’s just the two of you? Read?”

“No, of course not. I don’t enjoy reading, wouldn’t be caught dead doing it.” That caused a roar of laughter through the room, and the Baron slapped her back again before stepping away.

“So Lady Fell… running a business, all on her own?”

“She has the mind for it, it’s what she enjoys.” 

“And is that how you two met?”

“No, no, we met in, er, the gardens. In town. She likes to go all over, really. We kept meeting throughout the neighborhood, as it were. In concert halls, museums, the parks, you know how it goes. And then…” She waved a hand. 

“Such a passionate story,” one of the men joked.

“Yes Sir Crowley, you should be careful. I have yet to see this bride to be, but if she’s so forward and active, you don’t want her to slip away, do you?”

“Are you trying to imply something about my fiancee?” There was a chorus of laughter and little exclamations, all seemingly made in good jest.

“No, of course not - merely that she’s spirited! That can be quite the thing, depending on the gentleman you are,” the man replied with an annoying amount of diplomacy. 

“That, and she might lose interest in her future groom if he keeps being stoic in the face of all these young bucks, I’m sure,” said Lord Wendover, who, like his wife, apparently loved to poke at the situation until something interesting happened - in this case, a possible duel for honor. 

Crowley couldn’t stop herself from snorting. “I’d like to see those young bucks try. And I’ll laugh when she turns them away without even a glance.” Really - Aziraphale. With a human! And one she met out at some random country estate. She could laugh. 

Crowley found that she was not laughing that evening, when the group convened for a tasting of wine before dinner began, and Aziraphale unwittingly found herself in the midst of half a dozen men vying for introductions and her attention. One of them even muttered to Crowley that the lady, while older than expected,  _ was  _ extremely beautiful, and quite a catch. Crowley tried not to break her glass. 

She found she was being increasingly tested as the night wore on; Aziraphale was not exactly shy or quiet as a person - she just preferred her books to most people, and sometimes even to Crowley herself, provided the book was really quite good. But now the angel was laughing and making little witty comments - nothing  _ too  _ academic that would shut out the men who didn’t have thousands of years to read nearly everything that had ever been published, but it was well placed enough that Crowley could see the men around her look at her in awe. She was older, picture perfect, and made them laugh. And as they had learned that afternoon - ‘spirited’. As in, a woman who may be charmed enough to leave her fiance. Crowley bit down on her fork so hard at one point during the dinner that she nearly cleaved it in two with her teeth. 

Even worse, the more male attention Aziraphale received, the more chilly the reception became with some of the women. One of the Baroness’ sisters kept sending her pointed glances throughout dinner. Crowley couldn’t tell if it was meant to express ire at Aziraphale or sympathy towards her groom-to-be, but it only soured her mood more. 

Then the dinner was over and the men went away to talk apart from the women, and Crowley had to hear this group of men, complete  _ strangers,  _ giving their opinions of Aziraphale to her. Her! The jokes, the laughter, the presumptuous praise, all stemming from the assumption that these men knew her at all - she couldn’t stand it. She could only hope Aziraphale was faring better than she was. 

-

After the rather delectable dinner, Aziraphale and the other ladies retired to the drawing room - the usual one that they had been going to every evening for the past week. It was a well decorated room, with cream papered walls to encourage brightness even after the sun set. It was overly large for the six lady residents that were in the estate, but since the morning another half dozen women had arrived in anticipation of the ball tomorrow. It created quite a large amount of chatter, as most of them gathered around to play some card game or another such amusement. Aziraphale preferred to peruse the books in quiet, and with all the extra guests she no longer had to participate in a game or two for politeness sake - they were quite content without her. 

Lady Rivenhall’s eldest daughter, Josephine, had been all too glad of it, saying that it hardly felt worth it to win a game if one’s competitor held no stakes in it whatsoever. Aziraphale had the strangest inclination the young lady didn’t like her, for whatever reason. She could feel her gaze on the side of her face, now, as she struggled through a copy of  _ Tartuffe.  _

“You are concentrating awfully on that tome, Lady Fell,” Josephine Rivenhall spoke up, taking a new playing card from the pile. “Have you finally found a book in our modest home that you haven’t read?”

“I have read it, Miss Rivenhall,” Aziraphale said, squinting down at the words. “But I’m afraid I’m rather rusty with reading French.”

_ “Pouvez-vous parler francais?” _ she asked.

“Not particularly well, I’m afraid. I don’t bother with it.” She heard a scoff from the card table.

“No French! Really, Lady Fell, a woman like you,” said Lady Iverly. “What do you speak when there are servants around?”

“Oh, I don’t have servants,” Aziraphale said, flipping a page in her book. “I can do anything I need for myself.” Usually with the good use of a miracle, though Aziraphale had been known to flag down an errand boy, and of course she still had to to stop by particular shops for her needs regarding dresses, shoes, haberdashery, hair, and any desire for food she had. 

“...No servants?” Lady Iverly said, delicately.

“I thought you had the means to afford at least a maid!” said Josephine, less delicately. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, mentally back tracking. “A maid, yes, I do have one of those, but that’s such a - general thing I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.” She chuckled nervously. 

“Well, then there is that at least,” Lady Iverly said. 

“And you do everything else?” Violet - the other sister - spoke up. “I mean the - the things that you must do to take care of the house. The - the shopping, cooking, all of that?” 

“I prefer to see what the city has to offer, when it comes to food,” she said carefully. “And everything else - well it isn’t so difficult, and if I do need help then I suppose I can hire some, or have Crowley help me, of course.”

“Your fiance?” said one of the newer guests. “Making him do a servant’s work?”

Aziraphale blinked. “Isn’t that what a husband is for?” That startled a bark of laughter from some of the older women in attendance, but some of the others were staring at her like she had grown a second, or third head. “Anyway,” she said, putting the book back on the shelf and brushing hands down the front of her dress, “it’s been a lovely evening, but I ought to head upstairs. Beauty sleep and all that! Em, enjoy the… cards and all.” She ducked out of the room, heat flushing up her neck and shame coiling in her stomach. 

She stalked down the hallway. “Oh, how stupid,” she murmured, wringing her hands. “If Crowley knew about this -” She cut herself off abruptly when she heard the drawing room door open and close again. 

“Lady Fell?” Aziraphale turned, and saw the Baroness’ youngest daughter emerge from the drawing room.

“Yes? Did I forget something?”

“No, I told the others I had to go to the washroom. I, um,” she bit her lip. “Oh, I can’t talk standing still. Can we walk? Just in the corridor.”

“Um, yes, alright,” Aziraphale said uncertainly. The two of them went at a leisurely pace. “I hope you didn’t come all the way here to marvel at my rather unconventional quirks.”

“No! Not at all!” Violet said. “I thought it was rather interesting, that you can do so many things on your own. It’s a bit inspiring, I think. Sometimes I hate to wait for a servant to come when you ring, then disappear and come back again with whatever you need.” She sighed. “Mama and Jo always tell me it’s meant to be a virtue to be patient, but I’ve yet to grow out of that childish habit of racing down to the kitchens for food whenever I’m hungry, and that sort of thing.” 

“Ah, yes. I suppose I was being rather flippant. It can be difficult to do  _ everything  _ on one’s own.”

“But you don’t - you even said Sir Crowley will help you, if need be.” There was a vase on a side table in the hall, and Violet stopped to arrange them. “He seems like such a nice gentleman. The flowers he fetched for you were beautiful.”

“Oh, thank you,” Azirapahale said, blushing at the mere memory. “He is… rather sweet,” she said. If Crowley were here she would undoubtedly protest over such compliments, but it was just her and a young woman who knew almost nothing of them, so it was alright, she thought. 

“What is he like, Sir Crowley? You always prefer to read than talk after a meal. Most women I know who are engaged can only speak of that.” She left the flowers and started walking again. “I admit, at first I thought you were guilty of being… flippant with him. But surely someone who loves you as much as he does isn’t hanging all his hopes on nothing? You’re both too old for puppy love, aren’t you? If you’ll, ah, pardon me for saying that.”

“Of course we both are too old for that,” Aziraphale replied. If only this young lady knew. “Well, Sir Crowley… he is a complicated creature. He - that is, we have a sort of, arrangement. As we’ve known each other for a long time, I know he can get antsy if I am too gentle or complimentary of him. He’ll protest, and think that he comes off as too soft.”

“But he is! I’ve so rarely seen a man treat a woman like that. Even ones I’ve seen who do fancy each other. I told Jo once that Sir Crowley covers his eyes because he must be naked without them - and everyone would realize how gone he is on you.”

“I - thought the same thing!” Aziraphale lied quickly. “But of course don’t bring it up, he’s terribly sensitive about that as well. On the other hand, he jumps at the chance to do things for me. If I make any innocuous comment about, say, a room being drafty, he’ll come by with an afghan to cover me up, or if I am hungry, he’ll suddenly suggest that he is absolutely famished, and we ought to go eat right at this moment - oh, but he couldn’t  _ possibly  _ choose the restaurant, he is past the point of rational thought, so I must decide for us.” Violet giggled at the way Aziraphale exaggerated her voice some to show when one or the other was speaking in these scenarios - ones that had actually happened before. 

“That sounds wonderful,” Violet said, her eyes staring to go far off. 

“Yes, well - I suppose once one knows us a bit better, one could see how it works. I’ve gotten used to keeping my own thoughts of him to myself, to let him keep his dignity intact, as it were. I suppose that makes me coldhearted, hm?”

“Oh, no! Not at all!” Violet said, whirling around to look at her. “I mean, well. Perhaps. But now I completely understand. Josephine was sour ever since she saw Sir Crowley. I’m afraid even though you two are engaged she became quite taken with him. I don’t know why - Mama and Papa would never allow it, even if he were single. Or interested,” she said, the last sentence dropping down to a whisper from her. That attempt at cattiness pulled a laugh from Aziraphale, who continued walking down the hall towards the home’s grand staircase. “Well it’s true! We’ve all seen the way he’ll kiss you - it’s the most romantic thing. Even if he just holds your hand to his lips before we sit down for dinner, or the way he’ll whisper something to you before we go to the drawing room after supper. You both look so wonderfully happy.” Violet pointing out not just how often their habit had become but also how ecstatic they both were over the flimsy excuse to be affectionate had Aziraphale blushing again. 

“Yes, I suppose we both are rather - taken with one another.” 

“You’re both madly in love. It’s so - delightful to see, really. It gives me hope that I might have a match as successful as yours one day.” Aziraphale put her hand on the bannister and turned back. Violet was looking at her, eyes shining with what Aziraphale could only think of as hope, and she couldn’t help but melt at the sight. She put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. 

“If you’re careful to make sure the suitor you meet is able to meet you as a friend, and not just a future wife, I think you will be just as happy as I am,” Aziraphale advised. 

“Really? You think so?”

“I’m positive, my dear.”

-

When Crowley begged off and managed to sneak back to her and Aziraphale’s room, she was surprised to find Aziraphale already inside. She was just taking off her shoes. When she saw Crowley, she smiled tiredly, and sat back in her chair.

“Going to bed already?” Crowley asked carefully. It didn’t matter what Aziraphale did, really - she was here as a favor to Crowley, nothing more. She played her part well; there was no reason why she couldn’t soak up attention from eager young men seeing as Crowley certainly didn’t have any real claim to her, and it wouldn’t do to start a fight. She would just make sure the angel was alright, and head to bed.

To her surprise, Aziraphale let out a frustrated groan. “I had to, I couldn’t take all that socializing! Goodness, some of those men are so terribly dull, and the women -” Aziraphale sighed. “Best not to get into that.” Crowley made no comment, biting her tongue instead of griping about the audacity of some of those fellows. Going after a taken woman like that!

“Were they all that terrible?”

“Well, one of the Rivenhall girls is rather nice, the other…” She sighed again. “I thought to just abandon them all,” she continued, “but I didn’t want to seem rude. Wasn’t sure if any of them were part of your bigger schemes, dear.”

“Not those ones, no. I’m mostly caught up with the actual tempting,” Crowley told her. She walked towards the fire and the small chair Aziraphale was seated, soaking up the heat. It was going to be so  _ cold _ , laying with Aziraphale had already spoiled her. 

“Ah, that’s wonderful to hear. Some kind of investments, right?” Aziraphale continued to chatter as she changed into her nightclothes. 

“Yes, a bunch of dubious places off in Latin America. If they know how to spend their money wisely and not just trust any flash bastard that talks big, they’ll be fine. And if they don’t, they’re sinking all that land wealth into some made up place called Poyais.”

“Hoist by their own petard, hm?”

“Exactly. Done in by thine own treachery - or shoddy business deals, really.”

“I suppose I ought to persuade you to change your mind, but oh - it really is their own fault if they fall for that, isn’t it? It is a good plan. Or devilish one, I suppose.”

Crowley watched Aziraphale unpin her hair and plait it for some minutes. “Shall I leave you to your room, angel?” She finally asked. She dreaded the answer, but she had to accept her fate sooner or later.

“Ah, well, I was hoping you were staying again tonight actually.” Aziraphale smiled sweetly at her. “I didn’t sleep much myself, but it was nice. Very warm and cozy!”

“Ah,” Crowley said. She was dumbfounded. “Yes.”

“If you wished it, I could help you braid your hair. I know right now you still have your shorter look, but I assume you like to sleep with it the longer length? Or does that sort of thing not matter so much to you?” Aziraphale was now holding her brush, and while Crowley didn't mind so much in terms of what her hair looked like, Aziraphale's offer had her snapping her fingers without a thought, letting her fiery red curls fall around her face once again. “Oh, lovely!”

Crowley quickly found herself once again under Aziraphale’s complete attention. Careful fingers pulled her hair back and began to braid, occasionally scratching at her scalp and making her melt. The angel was humming an unknown tune to herself, her body wiggling a bit as she worked on fixing Crowley’s hair this way and that. It was easy to just lose herself under the careful touches. 

“Hm, all done."

"Thanksss, angel," Crowley unwittingly hissed, feeling so relaxed she might fall asleep where she sat. 

"You're not going to bed like that, are you?"

"Hmm?"

Aziraphaled sighed. "I suppose I ought to help you. It certainly won't be comfortable laying down in that." Crowley found herself nodding, not even close to paying attention to what she was saying.

Warm hands were suddenly pressed against her chest, pushing off her jacket and startling her into looking down and watching as her angel began to unbutton her shirt. Aziraphale’s eyes were focused on her fingers, carefully tugging the buttons open and tugging the fabric from Crowley’s shoulders. Crowley was so glad that she’d left her chemise underneath when she’d gotten ready that morning.

Aziraphale ducked down and took off Crowley’s shoes, then tugged down her breeches and helped roll off her stockings. Taking them and the shirt away, she quickly put them away in the nearby wardrobe.

She was stood in front of the fire, and from the orange glow she was lit up radiantly. Crowley also couldn’t help but see that the light created a clear silhouette of her in her chemise - she could see the outline of her legs, the wideness of her hips, her waist that nipped in slightly below her breasts. The gowns of the era flowed well, and the stays created pleasant enough figures, but seeing Aziraphale in soft curves unburdened by constricting fabric that tried to hide or change or minimize reminded her of how lovely the angel really was, like it had been when they first met, before society was really all that it had become now, bloated and constricted and complicated. 

She knew she had been staring. She raised her gaze higher, wondering if Aziraphale had noticed, only to see the other was meeting her gaze head on - or rather, she too had been staring hard at Crowley, and only just now did her eyes come up to her face.

They both quickly looked away. Crowley heard Aziraphale finish hanging things in the wardrobe and close it up. Would she say something now? 

“I managed to find a lovely book today, even if it was in French,” Aziraphale told her as she climbed into bed. “I hope one day I can manage to get you interested in reading.”

“Not a chance,” Crowley replied on instinct, and got under the covers on what she supposed was now her side of the bed. She didn’t get as close to Aziraphale as she had the night before - it was a big bed, big enough they didn’t have to touch, even, and so they didn’t. 

For a bit, anyway. 

“Are you warm enough, Crowley?” Aziraphale spoke up a few minutes later. The soft sound of pages turning was soothing and it took Crowley a moment to speak.

“Feels alright, yeah.”

“Good.” Crowley thought that was it, until the angel spoke up again, “If it ends up a bit too chilly for you, I don’t mind helping you warm up again, dear.”

“I - okay,” she said. She sank deeper under the covers at the offer. “Is this how we’ll be sleeping now, angel?” 

“Of course - I can’t send you back into that other room, can I?” Crowley’s fingers fisted in the sheets, remembering centuries ago. Crowley had once asked what had ever inspired an angel presiding over Eden to shield the very serpent that caused it all to come crashing down, in the proverbial sense, anyway. Aziraphale had given her a blank look, and said that she couldn’t very well have let Crowley get wet back then, could she? Like offering kindness to a demon was never even a question. 

“You can do whatever you’d like,” Crowley breathed out. Did the angel know her acts of kindness would lead them here? Did she have a plan for  _ them _ ? Something that would evolve to more than philosophical chats and sharing meals and the occasional visit - something that went beyond the Arrangement, beyond platonic?

“Well I’d like it if you were comfortable while we were here,” Aziraphale said, completely unaware of the thoughts swirling through Crowley’s head. 

Slowly, Crowley reached out one of her legs, and pressed it against Aziraphale’s. It was a light point of contact, but Crowley thought she could sustain herself off of this one little spot where their legs touched for decades. Centuries. She closed her eyes. 

As she drifted to the sounds of paper rustling and a fire crackling down, Crowley felt a soft press against her forehead, before it was gone seconds later. If she’d been more awake, she would have realized that an angel had given her a kiss goodnight.


	5. A Step Too Far

And that was how the rest of the week went; they would wake up in bed together, and Crowley would dress as Aziraphale’s groom to be before they went down to have breakfast with the others. Afterwards they would part ways - she and the other men going to dress for a long ride around the estate grounds, or even making rounds to shoot at the rabbits that were eating the kitchen’s vegetable patch. Aziraphale was either persuaded into a walk by the other women, or to pick flowers, but for the most part she remained in a day room or drawing room and read by the fire. If Crowley was out all day, she wouldn’t even see Aziraphale until dinner, where the men and women socialized again with drinks before heading in for their meal, and then they parted ways once more. 

One thing that happened with startling regularity were the moments of affection between the engaged couple. They usually only did it when guests were present, a silent admission that it was part of their cover, even if both may have had their own reasons for being so quick to give or receive a kiss to the cheek or the knuckles. Crowley had, more than once, miracled or stolen some flowers to place in Aziraphale’s hair, a reminder of her first morning in the estate when they began their ruse. It was amazing to be given that chance to be close to the angel, while in private and in public. But if Crowley herself could choose, she would wish that the two of them could stay in bed all day, if only to avoid the rest of the guests of the estate. 

Because once the men were alone for long enough, the topic of conversation went from business or sports, the comments from the men would arise about this lady or that - and that was usually when Crowley had to hear them talk of Aziraphale. 

It was always comments on her looks, or her fine coloring and breeding - which inwardly made Crowley cringe, thinking of animals about to be traded at market - or her ‘strange but charming habits’, which Crowley took to mean that they were slowly realizing Aziraphale was more intelligent than they were and she was only holding back out of politeness. Crowley was longing for the hours to pass until she could retire to bed, where Aziraphale would be waiting with a book and open arms, and Crowley could slide under the covers next to her and forget about how exhausting high society life really was. At least until morning.

That day, however, the entire group was riled up - the ball was tomorrow, and most of their talk consisted of who else would be coming from the county, which ladies were most promising, and who had already scored a few dances with the ladies already at the estate. 

“Anne Cromby promised me two dances,” one of the men said, proudly. Crowley thought his name might by Lyndon - there were so many and Crowley couldn’t bother to care enough to remember who was who. Instead he sat with a glass of whisky, staring at the small clock over the fireplace. 

“Cromby… I’m sure I ran into that family in town,” another man - Fotherby? Sotherby? Something - said, “Yes, I believe her older sister just married in June. They were living in Bloomsbury.” A few men let out over exaggerated noises of derision.

“Bloomsbury is completely fine! It’s up and coming!” Lyndon protested. “Sir Crowley himself has been evaluating and selling properties, haven’t you?”

Crowley looked up. “Hm? Oh, yeah, yeah, real nice area, Bloomsbury. Nice little parks, there, quiet, perfectly respectable.” 

“Don’t you live in Mayfair yourself?” Crowley shrugged, producing a few laughs from the group.

“Well you can’t blame the family, it isn’t quite on the fringe as some places.” This then led into a fifteen minute conversation about the different neighborhoods and how they ranked in relation to others. Crowley leaned further back in her chair, nearly falling out of it when her attention was roused once again.

“What of Lady Fell, Crowley? Does she have a property outside of the city?”

“No country estate, she lives in town. Likes city life, and she has the bookshop.”

“Oh yes, that had been mentioned. And where was that one? By St. Pauls? I thought there was a handsome bookshop over there.”

“Oh, no. Soho. That’s where she works.” 

“Soho! Don’t tell me she lives  _ there. _ ” Ah, that one Crowley recalled was Dysart Frant, though only because of the unfortunate name. 

“Of course she lives there. Has for the last twenty-five years.” 

“All alone?”

Crowey shrugged. “Aside from the servants. She has no one else, aside from me, of course, but my address is in Mayfair.”

“And she’ll close up the shop once she’s married, yes?”

“Why would she have to do that? It’s not that difficult to find a home closer to her shop.” Soho wasn’t a charming neighborhood compared to the ones literally a stone’s throw away, but that had been quite the point. As Aziraphale pointed out, most of the gentry - the only group that had a spare hundred pounds to spend on a first edition of Milton - wouldn’t be caught dead in Soho anyway. 

“But think of her safety, Sir Crowley! Soho is full of shady characters.”

“Come now, this isn’t Whitechapel we’re talking about. I’m a quarter of an hour away if she needed a thing, and anyway, Aziraphale has always insisted on taking care of herself.” A few of the men stared at each other uncertainty. 

“She is rather… sturdy, isn’t she?” A man by the name of Huntington observed. He had fortunately soon abandoned gaining Aziraphale’s attention when he laid eyes on a barely out waif named Anne. “Hasn’t swooned or fainted at all.”

“Not even when you started going on about your glory days in the regiment.” Crowley frowned. 

“She doesn’t get over excited about those sorts of things?”

“Well then what does she like?” Frant asked. It was obviously a trap. The man was phishing for information. But Crowley also knew the answer. 

“Food, good wine. Expensive, exclusive restaurants that remember her by name. She loves reading above all, and music, although she’s quite horrible at dancing but it makes her smile to try.”

“Quite horrible, really?”

“Oh, two left feet. But I’m no better, so I suppose it evens out.” At least, that’s what Crowley had to assume - they had never actually danced together. Oh no, they were going to have to dance together. 

“Can she play then? Paint?” Frant asked.

“She must have an angelic voice,” suggested another. 

“Couldn’t say. I doubt it. She’s never had an interest for the - performing arts.”

“Performing? It’s not about performing - it’s all that seperates a lady from a common woman! It’s what makes a wife worth having!” protested Huntington. Crowley was fairly sure that lady he was interested in could do all of that and more. 

“I’m so sorry, are you lot suggesting that the only reason for marriage is... singing? Painting? She’s happy with her reading and I’m happy with her. I don’t understand what you all plan to do with your wives, but it sounds a bit like servitude.”

“Well, it is all according to the Lord’s plan,” said Lord Wendover. “The woman serves the man in holy matrimony. It is the natural order of things.”

While Crowley had heard Aziraphale protest that she couldn’t do this or that because of Head Office, or her angelic nature in general, Crowley found the other was quite capable in doing what she wanted, or coming to a roundabout manner of justifying her behavior she felt that it really was what she ought to be doing - like being friends with Crowley. If Heaven itself couldn’t tell Aziraphale what to do, the thought of any of these men doing so was enough to make him laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” Crowley waved his hand.

“None of you know my fiancee at all, it’s just amusing. If she thought I was planning to wed her for the sole purpose of her serving me, you’d be finding my body in a lake.” That got her an almost concerned murmur out of the men, before their host declared it was time to leave the estate and go out for their planned hunt.

A few hours passed before they were finally able to head back in, the men patting themselves on the back for a job well done. The hunting itself had gone alright if not at a snail's pace for Crowley, she’d been ready to go inside after the first hour of listening once again to the men bragging about their shooting prowess. She’d managed to get her own game, though as soon as their attention had turned elsewhere she would have the animal brought back to life. The guilt tended to linger in her chest, even though she knew that Aziraphale would have no way of knowing what she’d gotten up to outside.

She was in the middle of changing out of her boots when the door of the room she had claimed for the moment opened suddenly. She stood, watching as one of the Baroness’ daughters - Josephine? At times it was hard to tell them apart - walked into the room, her nose turned up at what Crowley guessed was the smell of her mud soaked boots.

“Sir Crowley,” she greeted. There was an odd tone to her voice, almost unpleasantly sweet. Crowley didn’t like it much.

“Miss Rivenhall,” Crowley answered. She kicked off her boots and set them aside, reaching for her other pair to wear inside of the estate.

The lady gave a laugh. “Oh, just call me Josephine, please. Rivenhall sounds much too pompous.”

Crowley thought that it was fitting, but bit her tongue. “I believe that we shouldn’t be talking like this alone.”

“Of course,” Josephine said with a sigh, “we shall speak in the hall then. I have my maid.” Glancing through the door revealed to Crowley that there was in fact a maid stood in the hall, her gaze on the floor. Whether that was out of politeness or an order from her Lady, she couldn’t tell.

Crowley pulled on her other pair of boots and stepped out of the room, snapping her fingers behind her back to rid herself of her dirty pair. 

"I hope that your hunt went well, of course I assume you did splendid," Josephine told her.

"It was an outing, yes," Crowley replied. She glanced at the maid who had started to rearrange a few things on the nearby table. Crowley didn't recognize her from the help she'd seen in the past few weeks, so she assumed that it was the personal maid of the Baron’s daughter.

"I'm sure your lady understands how important it is that you know how to use your gun."

Was that an innuendo? "Aziraphale tends to not care too much about what I do and don't shoot."

"Hm? Oh, what a surprise." Josephine held her own cheek with a hand and sighed. "I don't mean to be so frank, but it's quite alarming how such a gentleman like yourself found yourself engaged to...well, Ms. Fell."

"Ah, yes. I was also surprised that she agreed." Crowley was choosing on purpose to be obtuse about this. She'd normally be a bit more polite, but after the rounds of insults the men had given earlier about her fiance she didn't feel the need to bother. "I worried she would see me as a bit too much. I'm not the biggest of readers, you see."

"Hm," Josephine said. "She does indeed read a lot, doesn't she. Such a surprise that she can't even speak French!" She laughed, and Crowley winced. Damn, she had hoped Aziraphale would be able to keep that under wraps. More her own fault, honestly. France had been _ her _ idea after all, good memories of crepes there.

"She's better in the ways of writing than of her tongue, she helps me occasionally in translating messages while I'm working with overseas individuals."

"And you trust her?"

"Are you suggesting I shouldn't trust my fiance?"

"Well I'm sure you can, yes, but really Sir Crowley. I'm sure she can read those books, but a lady can only understand so much of it. Does she really know what she reads? Or is she only trying to impress -" Crowley had had enough.

“Lady Fell does nothing to impress me,” Crowley said, “and that’s how I know she’s genuine. She doesn’t try to make herself appear more intelligent, or more kind, or better than she is - she’s just... “  _ She’s just Aziraphale.  _ “She is who she is, and I love her for it. And that’s all that matters.” It felt freeing, saying it aloud. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she felt joy in watching Lady Josephine begin to stammer.

“I - yes, well, I just think, someone of your status should be concerned with - with the important things,” she said.

“Please believe me when I say, Miss Rivenhall, Lady Fell has everything I could possibly need,” She sauntered past the younger woman, who looked shocked into silence. “Good day,” she threw over her shoulder. 

Partway through walking away, Crowley realized she had no idea where to go next. Her room was on the other side of the estate, and past where she had just walked, leaving Josephine behind. Not wanting to ruin the victory she had just scored, Crowley made a hasty left and wound up outside once again - though this time in the nicely trimmed gardens. 

Crowley rolled her eyes at Josephine’s nonsense. The men were bad enough; getting accosted afterwards? She ambled through the rose covered trestles, taking in the faint sunshine from the overcast sky. 

As she got into the center of the garden she saw Aziraphale herself. She had a book in her lap, but wasn’t reading it, instead staring at the large fountain that was running in the center of the garden. 

“Hey angel,” Crowley said, sitting down next to her. 

“Mm?” Aziraphale glanced over at her. “Hello, Crowley,” She said, then went back to squinting down at her book. 

“I hope your day’s gone better than mine, that blasted woman - Josephine? The daughter - wouldn’t leave me alone! Everyone’s trying to upset me today, it’s entirely unfair.”

Aziraphale didn’t respond. 

Crowley continued, “The  _ nerve  _ some of these humans have, I thought your bosses were a lump, ha! These men have little to none in the ways of personality, let alone class.”

Once again, the angel added nothing to the discussion. Crowley leaned closer to her. She was still focused on the book.

“I uh, wanted to…extend my gratitude,” Crowley murmured.

“Whatever for?” Aziraphale said, flipping a page.

“Well, for being so - focused on maintaining our cover. You obviously have everyone fooled. Aside from the French. You were right, I shouldn’t have mentioned that. Forgot how much rich people love speaking foreign languages around the help.” 

“Ugh, the French!” Aziraphale slammed the book shut. “I’ve absolutely had it with the French. Here.” She passed the book over to Crowley, who saw that it was a collection of poetry, indeed, in the original French. 

“Why did you have this out?”

“After the embarrassment the other night I’ve been trying to read it, in secret, of course, I don’t need anyone asking after my language abilities,” Aziraphale said with a sniff. “I just thought I ought to - brush up on it. For the sake of the cover story, as you put it?” 

“Ah,” Crowley said. It was probably best not to mention the Baron’s daughter’s mockery from her earlier encounter. Instead she opened the book now placed on her lap, flipping through the pages and picking one at random.

“ _ Il pleut, il pleut, bergère.  _ This one might be good, it has a lot of repeating lines within the stanzas,” Crowley explained. 

“Mm.” Aziraphale peered at the page, almost going cross eyed as she examined the words. “Something about… rain? Or is that saying that there’s clouds.”

“There’s a storm, that a shepherdess is being caught in. You know, typical Romantic nonsense. Always a young pretty shepherdess, you know, never some hermit with a bunch of sheep that needs shelter from the rain.” Crowley sniffed. “When was this published? I’m sure this is a metaphor for the French Revolution -”

“Well we won’t know if you don’t read it,” Aziraphale pointed out, polite and firm all at once. 

“Oh, we won’t, will we?” Crowley couldn’t help but tease. 

“I think it would be fair to say that it’s your fault I was embarrassed, so you should fix it by helping me,” Aziraphale told her.

“Right, er.  _ Il pleut, il pleut, bergère / Presse tes blancs moutons / Allons sous ma chaumière _ -” Crowley read slowly, keeping an even pace so that the angel could hear each syllable that fell from her lips. The further down the page she read, however, the more she began to realize the things that the poem was saying. 

The shepherdess was indeed caught in the rain, but the person who was helping her was obviously her lover, from the way that they spoke of her within the stanzas. They seemed to even be planning to wed the shepherdess, and was so deeply in love with her that they were full of joy to have them there, even in such dreadful weather.

Soft hair suddenly tickled along the side of her neck, and she glanced down only to catch the angel leaning onto her shoulder. She was careful not to let herself tense, instead breathing deeply for a moment and counting to ten before letting it out. “Losing interest already, angel?” Crowley teased.

“Hm?” Aziraphale hummed, moving herself until she was pressed along Crowley’s side. “Was merely getting closer to see the page,” she explained. The fact that her eyes were shut didn’t seem to phase her. 

“Of course. Do you want to read the next lines?” Aziraphale didn’t answer, instead all Crowley could hear were her soft breaths against her shoulder. Taking that as an answer, she continued her way through the poem.

It was warm, having the angel pressed to her so closely. Somehow it felt more intimate than anything else they’d done in the past week, even including the lying in bed together. Maybe it was the fact that they were out in the open instead of hiding away in a room, or seeing each other for meals. That was another thing, they were the only ones out there. No supervision at all, and the day before a ball? Astounding.

“I’m not entirely sure what this is about,” Aziraphale’s soft voice murmured to her, “but the tone of your voice makes it sound lovely.”

Crowley turned her head towards her fiance and her heart stuttered in her chest as she looked at Aziraphale, soothed from being read to, her eyes taking on a rare, sleepy look. “Aziraphale, I -” Could she? Could she say it now? Sitting in the middle of an opulent garden, masquerading as a betrothed couple, closer to Aziraphale than ever before, and of the angel’s own volition?

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure if I should say it,” Crowley defended, wanting to shrink back, but Aziraphale was leaning against her so completely that she couldn’t back up unless she wanted the other to fall. “It might - complicate things.”

“We’re an angel and a demon pretending to be a pair of engaged humans while one of us is also pretending to present as a man,” Aziraphale pointed out. “I doubt you could say much else that would complicate things.”

_ I could say that I love you,  _ Crowley thought. Instead she gave a twitch of a smile. “Right. Well, um.” 

“Lady Fell? Sir Crowley? Oh! Um,” They both turned to see Violet staring at the two, an excited blush creeping up her neck. She looked guilty and giddy at once.

“Yes, dear?” Aziraphale said, getting to her feet and brushing down her gown.

“I just wanted to let you know dinner will be served momentarily. Um. If you both wished to hurry and get dressed for it.” 

“Of course. We’ll be down before you finished the aperitifs, don’t worry,” Aziraphale said. Violet looked at the two again, and nearly ran back into the house. 

Aziraphale promptly ducked behind a rather large shrub, snapped her fingers, and miracled herself an evening dress. Crowley did the same, not sure if she ought to curse the other daughter or be happy for the distraction. 

-

Dinner passed with no issues. Or interests, either, which was the most disappointing part if she was honest. Dealing with these rich, pompous pea brains was starting to get on Crowley’s last nerve if she thought too hard about it. Maybe that’s how she’d missed the side glances some of the women had started to give Aziraphale, who also didn’t notice as she was involved in deep discussion with Violet about a book the younger sister had found. 

Crowley herself had once again been trapped in another dull discussion on trade routes. At this point it wasn’t even fun to think up or remember fabricated facts about countries, she could have told them that there was an entire unmarked island in the middle of France, and they’d probably believe her! 

By the time it was over, Crowley waved off an offer of a game of cards, instead excusing herself from the table and saying that she was once again not feeling well. This gained her some sympathetic nods from the men, and a few worried words from the women still at the table. Aziraphale had given her a look, but with a quick kiss to her cheek, Crowley had her appeased.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, dearest,” Aziraphale told her. The smile she gave Crowley almost had her weak in the knees.

“Of course you will,” Crowley agreed. With that she finally made her way out of the dining room, but not going in the direction of what she now called  _ their  _ room. No, instead she once again stepped out into the garden, a heavy feeling resting in her chest.

If the younger Rivenhall daughter not appeared when she had, would Crowley have actually confessed to the angel? Or would she have made a fool of herself, and brought out Aziraphale’s pity? She wasn’t sure what was worse, a rejection or the limbo she now found herself in. To tell, or to keep it in. Thousands of years of friendship, and she wanted to tell Aziraphale how much she wanted to give her more than just kisses upon the cheek.

As the nerves coursed through her, Crowley made a decision. She would go to Aziraphale, take her aside, and tell her how she felt. And then - and then she didn’t know. It was something that she would figure out as she went. Making bad decisions was embedded within her skin, and with a laugh she marched herself back into the house and made her way to where she knew that the women liked to have their small talk. Fear be damned, she wasn’t going to chicken out of this one.

She was just about to tell a nearby servant to introduce her, or to pass along a message - she was pretty certain that it was rude to intrude on ‘lady’s time’, or whatever it was called. But that was when she could hear the conversation carrying on through the door. 

“Of course they do that! Men are certainly capable. That’s why one tries to remain more appealing than a common wench.”

“My Crowley wouldn’t do that!” That was Aziraphale’s voice, raised in pitch in a way that only happened when she was upset, and had been for a while. Crowley’s stomach immediately clenched at the sound.

“Well if you insist on acting so contrary, I’m afraid he’ll only grow to resent you, Lady Fell. It’s merely the truth.” 

“It’s why Lynton and the other men decided to pursue Miss Cromby and Kloester over yourself.” 

The voice she heard rang hard in her head, as it was the sound of the Rivenhall sister who’d gone on about Aziraphale only hours before. “It’s such a shame - Sir Crowley does seem like he would make such a doting husband, but if you -” 

Unable to hear anymore, Crowley opened the door. Ten or so women were sitting around in a circle, with Aziraphale cast off to the side. It was obvious Aziraphale had been reading, until the women began talking to her, upsetting Aziraphale enough that she had plucked out a handkerchief to worry at, her book face down on the floor. 

“If you ladies would please refrain of speaking in such a way to the woman I am engaged to, it would be much appreciated,” Crowley told them in almost a hiss, as she crossed into the room and handed Aziraphale the fallen book. 

“Sir Crowley! What are you doing here?”

“I came to tell Lady Fell something of great importance, but before I could find a servant to announce me, I overheard what sounded like the group of you insulting her person.” 

“We weren’t doing anything of the sort! We were merely just trying to give advice! It’s important for a wife to be to understand certain things a husband expects.” Aziraphale kept her eyes on the floor, mouth pulled tightly into a frown.

Anger burned harsh in Crowley’s chest, thousands of years of torture, of pain, flashed behind her eyes as she thought of how to deal with these humans. It passed a moment later as she heard a soft sniffle come from her angel. No, those pathetic people weren’t important right now. She knelt on one knee in front of Aziraphale, and lightly tilted her chin up so that their gazes met over her own sunglasses.

“The only thing I expect from my wife,” Crowley started, “is for her to be happy. To live comfortably with me, and to let me know when she is upset. I don’t care if she spends all night reading, or complaining of a sore stomach from too many sweets. I’m with her, and that’s all I need from her.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, her bottom lip trembling. She threw her arms around her neck, nearly throwing her weight down into the embrace, but Crowley could bear it. She wrapped her arm around Aziraphale’s waist and lifted them both to their feet. She looked up at her, stormy blue eyes large and shining. “I -” she stopped, eyes growing even wider. Her mouth shut with a click.

“It’s alright, angel.” Crowley whispered, by which she meant,  _ ‘you don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready.’  _ Aziraphale’s face calmed. “Shall we go? You must want a rest.” Aziraphale glanced around the room.

“Er, yes, perhaps that’s for the best…”

“Come on then,” Crowley said, pulling her from the couch and out of the room, where ten pairs of eyes were watching them. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.” 

If a particular busybody of a guest were to ask, any servant of the house would say Sir Crowley left Lady Aziraphale at the entrance to her bedroom before making his way to his own chambers. The reality was, of course, that the two had entered together. As soon as the door was shut and locked, Crowley carefully began undressing Aziraphale, her clothes appearing in her wardrobe as soon as they were unfastened from her body. Then she was gently sat in the chair before the vanity, where Crowley began undoing her hair, and redressing it for bed. 

“Would you like to tell me what happened?” Crowley asked gently, watching Aziraphale’s reflection in the mirror. 

“Oh, I expect they were all rather… catty. Being cooped up in this manor for so long, and the ball is tomorrow. Things were said that were uncalled for, it’s the usual thing, I’m sure.” 

“Did they do that to the other ladies?” Aziraphale looked down at her lap. “Aziraphale?”

“I was just the odd one out, I suppose,” she finally sighed, picking at the edge of her chemise. “I made the mistake of saying I sold the works of Marquis de Sade at my shop, among some other criminalized books. That’s when they knew that my penchant for reading books was at an undesirable level, and so Josephine roused the others into… trying to persuade me that I ought to be more ladylike in order to, em.” 

“To what?” 

“Prevent you from having an extramarital affair, of course. It was… silly. It’s not as if we were actually about to get married! And even if we were, it wouldn’t…” She waved a hand uselessly. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter now, does it?” She looked up at Crowley in the reflection. “I didn’t interrupt your evening, did I?”

“I’d come to see you because the last time I stepped away from you, I was trapped with those idiotic gentlemen trying to explain to me that I’m supposed to find a wife that has some sort of skill, like a pet dog,” she spat out. “Complete nonsense from all of them, honestly. I can’t wait for this century to be over.”

She went silent for a few minutes as she continued to work on Aziraphale’s hair, but she couldn’t drop it. “As though you being smart, and witty, and - and kind! As though that isn’t enough to see you as a wonderful wife! And moreover, a wonderful  _ person! _ ”

“Women are to be seen and admired and nothing more, really,” Aziraphale said, slumping in her chair. “I don’t know why I bothered to change forms in the first place. You always do it so wonderfully Crowley, and I’m a mess every time. Even if we were really to be married…” She reached onto the vanity for a ribbon, which she passed back to Crowley so she could tie her hair, “I wouldn’t make a good wife.” 

“You changed forms because you felt comfortable, and you’ve no idea how angry I am about the way they've treated you. The fact they see women like that - and that these women  _ believe  _ that of themselves - it’s ridiculous! I’d be honored to marry you, Aziraphale, you  _ need  _ to understand that.”

Aziraphale, who had been running her finger tip over a hairpin, paused. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do! Have you been listening?” Crowley finished fixing Aziraphale’s hair and met her eyes once again in the mirror. She pulled her sunglasses off and set them down on the vanity. “I wouldn’t say all this stuff if I didn’t mean it, you know.”

“No,” Aziraphale agreed slowly, “you don’t like to be a flatterer, do you?” 

“Never for someone who doesn’t deserve it.” She placed the braided end of hair over Aziraphale’s shoulder. “And I’ve never met someone more worthy of a compliment than you.” 

Aziraphale smiled. It was a careful smile, but there nonetheless. “I think I’m ready for bed now, dearest.” Crowley nodded, and snapped into her nightgown before leading her to bed. She let the angel get in first, making sure she was settled before slipping in to the other side. 

Aziraphale rolled over so that they faced each other. “You look like you’re going to fall off the bed,” she said. Crowley took the hint and moved closer.

“There. Better?” Aziraphale was watching her, eyes flicking over her face. She ran her hand up to brush back the hair that hadn’t been braided. 

“You know the women still thought you were rather charming,” she said. 

“They can think I’m charming all they want, there’s still only one woman-shaped being for me.” 

“Really?”

“I think I knew the moment you mentioned what you did with that sword of yours.” Aziraphale blushed for a moment, looking like she wanted to protest about bringing  _ that  _ old story up for the millionth time, but then she smiled again. 

"Thank you." Suddenly, with no warning, Aziraphale pressed a kiss to the corner of Crowley's mouth. Her lips were warm, and Crowley couldn’t stop a surprised hiss of breath from leaving her mouth. The sound seemed to startle Aziraphale as well, who pulled back, wide eyed. "Oh!" 

"I'm - you've just - you'd - " Crowley cut herself off and scooted away on the bed. The demon’s eyes were wide and she suddenly longed for her glasses back on her face. 

"No, no please don't leave Crowley. Please," Aziraphale begged. She reached out, grabbing at the fabric of the other’s gown. “Come back to me.”

“A-Aziraphale.” Crowley wasn’t sure what else to say. What could she say? Do it again?

“I hadn’t meant to do that,” Aziraphale admitted, and Crowley felt her heart drop so far down it was probably rattling around in a pit in Hell. She had thought… wanted to think, after everything… but of course Aziraphale wasn’t ready for that. Maybe she wouldn’t ever be. Maybe she just didn’t feel as much affection for Crowley as the demon had hoped. 

“Right, right, ‘course,” she said, trying to get Aziraphale’s hand off her nightgown so she could get out of bed and lick her wounds in peace.

“Not that time,” she said, “but I mean to this time.” Her mouth pressed to Crowley’s again, and Crowley forgot how breathing worked. It was wonderful, different than anything she had been expecting. Aziraphale’s lips were soft and so gentle and as she kissed Crowley she felt like she was melting. Her arms were wrapping around Aziraphale without a thought, dragging her closer, and that prompted Aziraphale to roll on top of her, straddling Crowley’s hips and pressing her into the bed. 

Crowley pulled away, her body shaking at the soft whine that left Aziraphale’s mouth as she lost contact with her lips. “No, come back!”

“Aziraphale - are you sure about this?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale raised a hand to brush Crowley’s hair back over her shoulder, before caressing her cheek. “You’ve been so kind to me Crowley, so sweet and charming,” Aziraphale bit down on her lip and Crowley couldn’t help but stare at how red they were turning. “I’ve been tempted so deeply by you, dearest, and I never want it to stop.”

“Not tempting you,” Crowley said, reaching up to kiss Aziraphale’s palm. “I just want to treat you the way you deserve.”

“And what do I deserve, Crowley?”

“Everything.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, giving a shiver of delight, “all I want for the moment is  _ you,  _ dearest. So if you please…” Crowley didn’t need any further encouragement. She had been imagining this for literal eons, and yet, as she pulled Aziraphale back down for another kiss, she found the reality was better than any fantasy she had ever thought up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem that Crowley reads can be found here https://lyricstranslate.com/en/il-pleut-il-pleut-berg%C3%A8re-it-raining-it-raining-shepherdess.html


	6. Waiting

Crowley woke the next morning with her mouth pressed to her angel’s neck, tasting that indecipherable sweetness, with delicate fingers gliding through her soft silken hair. She breathed deeply, flicking her tongue out for a moment to get a better taste of the skin beneath her. It’s what she dreamed about, and she could now just _have it._ The thought made her dizzy.

Aziraphale giggled. She lifted her head to meet Aziraphale’s gaze. 

“Hello there, lovely,” Aziraphale murmured. Crowley lifted her face enough for Aziraphale to lean down and kiss her good morning. “Did you sleep well?” 

“Mm,” Crowley hummed instead of answering, stretching luxuriously before melting back against Aziraphale. She couldn’t truly recall falling asleep. They had kissed, and talked, and kissed some more, until they had seemed to run out of everything they could say, and they laid next to one another, their eyes saying what words couldn’t, and then Crowley had felt so encompassed by love, and the comfort of Aziraphale’s arms around her, that she must have slipped off to sleep. 

“You’re already making it hard for me to get ready this morning, you know,” Aziraphale said with a sleepy smile. “Much too comfortable, there’s things that have to be done today. Dances to...dance.”

“That sounds like a problem for a man and his fiancee,” Crowley grumbled, “I am but a mere sister, keeping a very thorough eye on her lady.” She ran a hand down Aziraphale’s side as she spoke, touching at her curves under her chemise.

Aziraphale bit her lip and turned more towards Crowley, a hand coming to rest on her stomach. “How thorough is that?” she asked. 

“As thorough as my lady wishes,” Crowley promised. With one hand she tugged Aziraphale, pulling the laughing angel until she was once again on top of Crowley. “There we go. Comfortable?”

With a look that could only be described as wicked, Aziraphale slid one of her thighs between Crowley’s and _pressed,_ making Crowley suck in a breath through her teeth. The angel’s lips pressed to her neck. “Now I am. Are you?”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley moaned. She arched her hips, rubbing herself against Aziraphale’s warm thigh. Last night she had been too overcome by the fact that Aziraphale wanted her, very possibly _loved_ her, but the way she was being pressed right against her center made Crowley realize she was already slick, the core of her body overheated and eager. “ _Fuck_ .” She bet she could come like this, if she tried. If Aziraphale let her. Oh, _would_ she?

“Mm, that is a thought,” Aziraphale murmured. “That could be a lovely way to wake us both up, wouldn’t you say?”

Crowley’s response was cut short by a knock at the door.

“Lady Fell?” A voice called out. One of the maids, Crowley assumed. “Package came in for you! I was told it was important that you got it before the night.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale called out, startling Crowley. “Just a moment!”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley hissed, “Do you really need to answer that? Right now?”

“Of course I do, it’s our stockings!”

"The st - fuck the stupid stockings! We were in the middle of-" Aziraphale shushed Crowley and got up from bed, her day clothes draping across her body thanks to a quick miracle. Crowley barely had enough time to pull the covers over herself and tame her hair before Aziraphale was opening the door. 

"Ah, thank you ever so much. I expect the seamstress wanted to make sure we got these in time for the ball tonight." Going over to a small desk, Aziraphale produced a bag of money and a sturdy envelope. "The seamstress in the village - do you know of her?" She quickly lit a candle and dripped wax onto the fold, sealing it with the ring on her little finger.

"Oh, yes my Lady."

"Then please have the rest of her payment sent back to her." She placed the full and now sealed envelope into the girl's hands. "And this for whoever can run it for you," she gave the girl a coin. 

"Yes, miss. Um. Is Lady Crowley well?" Aziraphale didn't look over her shoulder.

"She'll be alright. It's just... that _time_ for her,” she said in a conspiring voice. “She gets them rather horribly, the poor thing."

"Oh no, I'm sorry to hear that. Can we do anything for her?"

"Just to be left alone," Crowley instructed from the bed. The maid nodded.

"And here," Aziraphale said, producing another coin. "For your troubles."

"Ah, thank you Lady Fell!" Aziraphale smiled at the maid as she curtsied and left, the angel shutting the door and relatching it. 

“You don’t have any other interruptions planned for today, do you?” Crowley asked after the girl had left. She squeezed her thighs together, hoping that Aziraphale would soon be back to keep her warm under the duvet. 

"Not that I'm aware of." Aziraphale squinted at the window. "It's getting on though, let's get down to breakfast before anyone talks. Come on, dear, up you go!"

"Wh- angel! Really?" She was over excited now and had the notion it wouldn't be going away any time soon.

"There will be time for that later. You don't want to be late, do you?"

Crowley hissed. “I’ll get you later, angel.” With a sigh, she wiggled herself out of bed.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale laughed. “I don’t know if that’s a threat or a promise. Oh, do you think there’s orange juice today?”

-

Crowley should have stayed in bed. Both Crowleys, in fact. A sickly Anthony, cold and miserable in his room, wasting away as he wallowed over his aches and pains while his young love spent her afternoon sipping teas and reading. Then you had his dear sweet sister, her afternoon spent rutting against a pillow until a certain angel could show up to help her with the _ache_ the other had caused between her thighs.

Instead, Anthony Crowley and ‘his’ fiancee were once again sharing breakfast with a room full of idiots. The fiasco of the night before seemed to have spread throughout everyone staying within the estate; a few of them appearing chastised as they gave their polite greetings to the two of them. The nicer of Lady Rivenhall’s daughters, Violet, even tugged Aziraphale aside for what Crowley assumed was a lengthy apology. The other women weren’t as forthcoming, but they at least seemed sheepish. Crowley assumed - and hoped - that one of their hosts had given them a stern word. Honestly, Crowley didn’t care about any of them as long as Aziraphale was feeling better.

No, what was upsetting Crowley were the glances her angel kept sending from across the table.

Aziraphale was making soft conversation with one of the women sitting next to her as she ate her breakfast, calm and poised. Her hair was perfectly set, with small flowers that she tucked in herself as Crowley watched. She’d even applied a bit of makeup, cheeks pink and lips a soft red. If Crowley hadn’t been with her not even half an hour before, she would have no idea what the lady had gotten up to. However, as she would sip at her orange juice - which they did indeed have that morning - the angel’s eyes would slide up and meet Crowley’s own, a dark heat behind them. She would even wink! Aziraphale was trying to torture her! She was thankful that as the sickly Crowley, no one expected her to finish her meal. She managed a few bites and only barely kept herself from just resting her chin on her palm to watch her lovely angel enjoy herself.

“It is good to see that your illness has been a bit better this last week, Sir Crowley,” one of the men was saying. 

“Oh, yes,” she said, giving a pointed cough. “I do seem to be on the mend.”

“Just in time for the ball tonight,” another piped up. And like a switch had flipped, most of the table began to talk of that. The ladies turning to their companion to discuss the dresses, what dances would be permitted; Crowley overheard Aziraphale ask after the dinner menu to the woman next to her and she had to reign in a besotted sigh at how _typical_ it was. 

Suddenly, she felt a touch from under the table. Someone’s foot was lightly nudging against the leg of her trousers, almost rubbing against the fabric. Crowley narrowed her eyes at Aziraphale, who was still deep in conversation with the woman next to her. She could see the mischief in those eyes, however. What was she doing?

“Shall your sister be joining us tonight at the ball?” One of the men asked. Crowley opened her mouth to speak, but before she could let out a word she felt the touch along her leg move its way up from her knee to her crotch, pressing the spot where she was still aching from the teasing done earlier that morning.

“Ngk,” she managed to cough.

“I’d not seen her in a few days myself, has she also fallen ill?” Josephine piped up from a few seats down. “How dreadful. Should we check on her?”

“No no, she’s -” Aziraphale's foot moved against her and she bit back a whimper, “I didn’t think she’d want attention brought to her, but she _ha_ \- _has_ had something come up at home. She actually plans to leave later today.” She took a breath. “Very sad, but must be done.” A few guests protested the news, discussing the ramifications of a lady travelling alone and missing the dance and so on and so forth. Crowley may have had questions asked of her, but she had completely tuned out, staring across the table at Aziraphale, as innocent looking as ever, while she was being pressed through her sinfully tight trousers. She couldn’t stop a full-body shudder from passing through her, the grounding clench she had on the table causing the wood to splinter under her fingers. 

“I’m very glad you’re feeling better, dear,” Aziraphale suddenly told her. Crowley squinted suspiciously. “If you’d fallen under the weather again I’d have no choice but to not go to the ball myself.”

“Oh, no, Lady Fell,” Violet protested, “you could still have come!” 

“Of course we’d understand if you didn’t,” Josephine added. Violet gave her a severe look, which her sister returned. 

“She’s only saying that because she doesn’t like dancing with strangers,” Crowley quipped. 

“And you’re only saying that because you get embarrassed when I’m sweet on you,” Aziraphale said with a laugh. She was still teasing Crowley under the table, the bastard. Crowley wanted to protest, but the moment she opened her mouth Aziraphale pressed forward more insistently, and Crowley shuddered again. She rubbed her hand across her face.

“I’m going to discorporate, I swear -”

“What was that, Sir Crowley?” said the man sitting to his right.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” 

-

Crowley survived breakfast by the skin of her teeth. Once everyone began to get up and go about their day, she nearly sprinted out into the gardens. She had to endure Aziraphale’s sultry look, a fond kiss on the cheek, and a promise to see her sometime in the afternoon. The cool air on the garden path was just enough to keep her from combusting. She vaguely considered dunking her body in the frigid water of the fountain, but no, that would probably give Aziraphale even more of an excuse to lay her hands on her, tantalizing, teasing -

“Sir Crowley?”

 _“What?”_ she hissed, whirling around. There was Violet Rivenhall again, a maid trailing behind her. “Oh, yes, what is it?” she asked, trying to calm herself. 

“Is this not a good time?”

“No, it’s - nothing. What did you need?”

“I just - came to apologize. About what happened last night. I spoke to Lady Fell at breakfast, but, well,” she fidgeted, staring at the ground. “I tried to speak up on her behalf, but my sister - she doesn’t like Lady Fell, and some of the older women are so judgemental. I wish I could have been more like you, coming to her rescue, making them realize how horrid they were being. It was - quite a sight, really.” She spared her a glance. “Josephine was quite chastised once you left, I’ll have you know.” 

“Yes, well.” She coughed. “Apology accepted.” 

Violet smiled at her, relieved. “I’m glad. Um. I suppose I’ll see you both later this evening. It really is a shame your sister couldn’t make it.” 

“Ah, she’ll be alright. There’s plenty of balls in town,” Crowley said with a wave of her hand.

“Still… do tell her I wish her safe travels, if she leaves without a proper goodbye, will you?”

“Sure,” Crowley said. Not offering anything else, Violet proceeded past her with her maid, intent to explore the gardens for a while. As Crowley headed back inside, deciding she might be able to transform her frustrations into more productive ends, she reluctantly headed back inside. As she did, a younger man was just coming out.

"Sir Crowley, did you happen to see Miss Rivenhall? The er, younger one?" Crowley jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. The man looked relieved. He was blond, overdressed, and one of the men who hadn't said something incredibly rude about Aziraphale (yet). 

"Oh, thank you. I'll just - yes." He nearly dashed into the gardens. Crowley hoped her fondness for Aziraphale wasn't so obvious.

Crowley was accustomed to sneaking around, and she easily found herself in Sir Rivenhall's study. she had changed atlases and maps with merely a thought, but she ought to finish off this temptation - one that was slowly dwindling in importance with everything else going on - with a modicum more flair. 

Using her host's stationary, she penned multiple missives in an easily forged hand to familiar business associates, ones that she had met or were referred to in the man's own records. The guests at the party was only one small pool of potential marks, and Crowley was intent on casting the net much wider than that. If Aziraphale insisted on being difficult, then she would put her efforts in elsewhere!

She let herself get lost in the frenzy of writing, composing more made up details of that nonexistent island and similar endeavors in the west. She even sent a few in Lady Rivenhall's hands to her own female companions, in the expectation that the wives may mention such news to their husbands, not do enough diligence in investing, and send a check to some sham of a place. 

Crowley leaned back some hours later, flexing her hand and glancing at the slowly darkening sky outside the window. She finished sealing the letters, snuck out of the study, and found a footman to send the bundle of letters off. Now all she had to do was wait, and maybe send out a few faux informational pamphlets once she got back to London. She liked the pamphlet craze these days - it was easy to use flowery language to argue useless points and whip readers up into a froth over nonsense. Too easy of a temptation if you asked her.

Speaking of -

She saw Aziraphale as she started to climb the stairs to the second floor of the house. She had probably meant to be going up to her room, but had gotten distracted, examining a rococo styled portrait of a noblewoman that was hanging on the wall above the stairs. Crowley sidled up next to her.

“Friend of yours?”

“Mm, hard to tell,” Aziraphale said. “All the white powder, the wigs…”

“It would have suited you,” Crowley said. “If it hadn’t ended the way it had.” Aziraphale tsked, and began to climb the stairs again. 

“Must you always bring that up?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. She was wearing a simple gown, white and airy looking. As she fell in beams of sunlight it lit her up like a halo. 

“It wasn’t _that_ long ago, angel,” 

“It was over thirty years ago!”

“Out of how many we’ve known each other?” They reached the landing and began to go down towards their room. Crowley swallowed, glancing sideways at Aziraphale. They still had a few hours before the ball. Surely this was - wouldn’t they -? Heat crawled up Crowley’s spine. 

“Oh, so it’s fine to make fun of me - after you, dearest,” Aziraphale held open the door to her room, continuing on as Crowley walked in, “I should just have you dance with the other fine young ladies at the ball, but I’m selfish.”

“You know, we don’t _have_ to go to the ball,” Crowley said, shutting the door and leaning against it. 

“What do you mean? Of course we do!”

“Nah, snuck into the Baron’s study, forged some letters and had them sent out. Everyone will be talking about Poyais and all those other made up islands to sink money into. The temptation is as good as over.” 

“But why would you want to miss it?” Aziraphale asked, blinking at her and projecting an aura of faux innocence. 

Crowley stared incredulously at her, before stalking forward into her space to pin her against the now closed door, a wrist in each of her hands. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, _angel,_ ” she hissed, sliding a knee daringly between Aziraphale’s thighs and receiving a shocked gasp in return, “but if you’re just planning on teasing me until I _discorporate from frustration_ then you’re doing a remarkable job.” 

“Oh, don’t say that,” Aziraphale said with a laugh, “you know your compliments make me blush, Crowley.” She leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Crowley’s nose, startling her into backing away half a step. “Now! We don’t have that long before the ball,” she said, walking towards the wardrobe.

“Exactly!” Crowley said, rounding on her, holding her from behind. She could see the pair of them together in the large mirror on the vanity. “We could be doing so many things instead of going to that blasted dance.” 

“Oh yes?” Aziraphale said, face turning towards their reflection. She gently held the arm that was around her waist. “Like what?”

“This,” Crowley whispered, pressing a kiss against the pale skin of Aziraphale’s throat, kissing up along her jaw. She could see Aziraphale’s eyes slip closed, head tipping back, her pink lips falling open as she sighed with pleasure. Crowley let her other hand slide up the bodice of Aziraphale’s dress, fingers dipping under the neckline to touch the top of her breasts. She bet with half a thought she could make her stay disappear and get her hands against Aziraphale, touching along her stomach, cupping her breasts, putting her mouth anywhere she wanted -

“C-Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped. _Yes_ Crowley thought to herself. _Moan for me, let me hear you._ Her gaze flicked up to the mirror and she watched as Aziraphale seemed to melt against her, the grip she had on Crowley’s arm growing tighter. A small demonic miracle couldn’t hurt if it was leading an angel to expose herself willingly to a demon, surely. A snap of her fingers and Aziraphale jumped under her touch as her stay left her body. “Crowley!”

“Yesss?” she murmured, tugging Aziraphale’s dress down. Without the extra layer, the dress slipped down even further, and she managed to brush the pad of her fingertips against Aziraphale’s nipple, the angel gasping once again, trying to catch her breath in vain as Crowley continued to kiss along her exposed skin. “I could bend you over this table right now, Aziraphale,” Crowley taunted, both of them staring at the reflection once more. “Do anything you want. Would you like that, angel? Should we try?” 

“I - I…” 

“Just say what you want,” Crowley prompted. “Anything you want to do.” 

“A-Anything?”

Crowley nodded, turning her face carefully to place a kiss on her lips. “Anything you want,” she whispered. 

“What if what I want...is for you to dress up my hair for the ball,” Aziraphale whispered. 

Crowley froze. For a moment she was worried that she had managed to freeze time without consciously trying to do so. 

“Are you serious?” she asked. 

“Well we can’t just stay here all night and not _go,”_ Aziraphale argued. “Really, this is all for your benefit, my dear. Your temptation and all that.” She easily got out of Crowley’s hold and sat down at the vanity’s chair. “I should look presentable, shouldn’t I? And then I suppose I can thank you later tonight.”

Crowley shut her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. “I’m starting to wonder if this is playful teasing, or you just not knowing how to outright tell me ‘no’, angel.” Still, she began to unpin Aziraphale’s hair and reach for the set of brushes left out on the counter. Because she was a hapless idiot when it came to Aziraphale, really. Always had been, always would be. 

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, in a way that implied that the demon was the one being silly here. “You _know_ it’s the former. Of course I want you. I just also want to wait. Just a bit longer. Patience is a virtue, you know.” And didn’t that send another wave of heat through her? 

“When have you ever been virtuous?” Crowley saw Aziraphale tentatively bite her lip, moving in her chair slightly. “Ah, well, you know how nice it can be to wait, darling,” she said finally.

“You just find it fun to be a tease, don’t you?” Crowley said, leaning forward, lips brushing her ear.

“Of course,” Aziraphale replied. “Now, my hair?”

“Yes, yes, your hair.” Crowley lazily tossed the last of the pins onto the dressing table. “On one condition.”

“Hm?”

“A kiss, angel. A proper one.” 

Aziraphale, loveable bastard she was, pretended to contemplate the request. Crowley amused herself by wrapping thin strands of hair around her forefinger and watching them come back perfectly curled, as though a hot poker had done it. 

“Alright, fine, come here,” Aziraphale said, her faux exasperation fading as soon as Crowley leaned over her, gently cupping her jaw to kiss her soundly. She was soft, sweet, addicting, and Crowley was happy to tease more than _a_ kiss out of her angel. More than just the proper ones, too. If she had to be forced to wait, then so would Aziraphale, it was only fair. 

When she pulled back for the last time, Aziraphale let out a pitiful sounding moan, eyes closed and lips pouting, like she wanted more. Her face seemed permanently flushed, eyes glassy as she stared at Crowley’s deft fingers dressing her hair. She even pointedly crossed her legs.

Well, maybe Aziraphale had a point after all. Waiting could be rather nice. 

-

Crowley held that sentiment for all of an hour before realizing that it wasn’t worth it. Crowley was used to waiting for certain things - temptations, namely. Her finer works required a good deal of planning, scheming, and of course, skulking around in an inconspicuous cloak. 

She was also the one demon out of millions that had planned to show affection towards an angel in the hopes that over several eons, something would develop.

And it had! Aziraphale was ready and willing _right at this very moment,_ and yet, here she was, standing around with a bunch of men, drinking and chatting about international investments and trying to ignore how close she was to choking herself with her own cravat just to end the mindless teasing that had taken place over the course of the day. 

Crowley eyed the outfits the men had chosen and snorted. They looked the same as they had the day before, save for a different boot and a more elaborately tied cravat. Why was men’s fashion so _boring_? Where were the accessories? The colors? The painful struggle of choosing between two different but similar pairs of shoes? When she’d first shifted forms to female, she’d fancied the idea of only sticking with it for a few decades, but honestly if the fashion stayed this dull she might have to rethink that one.

“Ah, cheer up Crowley!” One of the men gave her a hearty pat on the back, startling a swear out of her. “The ladies will be done soon I’m sure. You know women, have to make sure no hair is left out of place.”

“Course,” Crowley replied. She tried not to let her mind wander too far, worried that if she sank into her ideas of what she would do to Aziraphale later, she’d ruin the angel’s plans of dancing and end up running up and trapping them in the room for the rest of the night. Not a terrible idea, no, but she didn’t want to _upset_ Aziraphale. She refused.

“Yes, you know my wife insisted on getting these silk stockings, and a matching handbag, shoes, and hat! That bill was ridiculous.” 

“The Baroness did take the ladies to that seamstress in the village. It’s always a hit. Did your fiance order something, Sir Crowley?” 

“Oh, some stockings, just,” Crowley said. She had put them on Aziraphale and tied them in place with a ribbon just before she left to head downstairs. The feeling of her fingers sliding up that pale, smooth skin, and the way Aziraphale had been smiling at her as she sat down on her chair to watch Crowley work, it had been maddening and beautiful all at once -

“Sir Crowley? Sir Crowley, are you listening?” 

“Hm?” Crowley snapped her head to the right, where the Baron was staring at her. 

“Head off in the clouds?” he asked, elbowing her side gently. “I do believe we should head to the foyer. The ladies should be heading down soon.”

“I’m sure we’ll be waiting another half hour at least,” one of the younger men said with a laugh. Crowley waited for most of them to file out of the room before following.

The foyer was as large and grand as the rest of the estate, with a beautiful staircase leading down from the upper floors. Crowley naturally gravitated towards a marble pillar that she could casually lean against as she pretended to be looking anywhere but the spot Aziraphale would appear. 

Minutes went by, but honestly to Crowley it could have been hours before the sound of heels on the wooden floors sounded above them.

And then she looked up, and at the top of the staircase, she saw _her._

Her angel was dressed beautifully, as usual. The delicate muslin gown falling across her body in a gentle, sleek series of lines. The creme colored dress was patterned with shimmering gold embellishments and flowering vines along the hem, her shoes a cheery yellow to match. Her hair was shining in the candlelight, curls framing her face and the rest held up with a string of pearls. Crowley had seen most of the look herself, having helped Aziraphale dress, but in the candlelight of the grand estate, she looked to be an absolute vision floating down the stairs. Despite being older than the other unmarried women in the room, Crowley noted with a mix of pride and jealousy that nearly every bachelor’s head was turning as Aziraphale swept into the ballroom and began to make her way towards _her._

“Hello, my dear,” Aziraphale said, stepping in front of Crowley, who took a moment before realizing she needed to offer her arm, which Aziraphale quickly took. A few other couples were already headed towards the ballroom. “You do look dashing,”

“I barely look any different. I should be complimenting _you_.” She couldn’t help the smug grin that slid across her face as she watched Aziraphale’s cheeks turn a soft pink.

“If you must,” she replied. Crowley used her free hand to cup her angel’s cheek, daring a glance around and seeing no one paying them specific attention. She pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.

“I’ve seen nearly six thousand years worth of beautiful sights, and none of them compare to you,” she whispered. Aziraphale’s cheeks turned a darker red, the flush spreading down to her neck. Not able to resist a temptation staring her in the face, she leaned down to whisper in Aziraphale’s ear, “the only thing more beautiful than you in this dress is you without anything on at all.” 

Aziraphale let out a gasp. “Crowley!” she hissed, not loud enough for anyone else to hear. She turned away. “ _Please_ tell me you won’t be doing that all night?”

“What am I doing, angel? Paying you all the compliments you deserve?” 

“Being… indecent about it.”

“Oh, if you think this is me being _indecent,_ angel, then I have some news about tonight.” Crowley was delighted to see a tremor run through Aziraphale’s body at the words. 

“I still want to at least have a _few_ dances, Crowley,” Aziraphale huffed.

“You will! I promise I won’t try and demand we leave. Get you flustered? Absolutely. Besides that, I’ll be...good,” she said with a slight wince. She didn’t like using that word about herself, but it worked for the situation.

This seemed to appease Aziraphale, who only rolled her eyes as she let Crowley lead her into the ballroom. The other guests were already chatting and drinking, the musicians completing the necessary last minute adjustments to their instruments. If Crowley remembered right, there would be an entire army of incoming visitors to the estate tonight, and the room would be crowded before long. 

“Shall I get us a drink?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, that would be lovely, thank you,” Aziraphale said, letting go of her arm. Crowley tried not to act like she was rushing to get back to Aziraphale’s side immediately, but the moment she turned back to the angel, two glasses of champagne in hand, she found that someone had found her and was dragging her away to where a young man stood. _For Go - Sat - Somebody’s sake!_ She thought to herself, walking over. 

She couldn’t stop herself from sneering slightly. “I see you’ve already been stolen away, dear,” she tried to joke. She wasn’t sure how well it worked, but honestly she didn’t care. She had been tormented all day. Tonight, Aziraphale was _hers_.

“Oh Anthony, you know I’m not going anywhere without you." She accepted her drink and pulled Crowley into the conversation. "Violet was just wanting to introduce me to Sir Croft, the young man she's dancing with tonight."

"I'm not _just_ dancing with Sir Croft," the young woman protested, giving the man a side glance. "Though he has been my favorite partner by far."

"The feeling is mutual. She's quite skilled - at dancing and conversing, and…" the man stopped himself before he could say anything too telling, though from the way Violet blushed, it was obvious that she had an idea of the extent of his compliments.

“He's been such a lovely gentleman already," Violet happily added, "and mother approves so I'm glad I found him before anyone else did." 

“Of course,” Crowley said. To her, he seemed no different than any of the other bachelors she'd been trapped in conversation with, but both Violet and Aziraphale seemed happy, so she didn't bother giving her own opinion outside of nodding along as they talked on about her new dance partner's estate and his background and everything else under the sun that was apparently important for them to know. Croft seemed about just as enthused. Or maybe that was just his face.

“Oh, this composer is one of my favorites,” Aziraphale interrupted - finally - “do excuse us, my dear Crowley promised me a few dances tonight.” 

Crowley smiled and let herself be dragged towards the dance floor. “You couldn’t have done that fifteen minutes ago?”

“I was waiting for a good song,” Aziraphale said, “and Violet seemed so happy! I might have also given her a small blessing earlier this week, I was just making sure I did a good job.” 

“Right, of course. I suppose you had to do something during our trip."

"Violet is a promising young lady. I just didn't want her to end up with the sort who only sees a woman as talking ornamentation." She smoothed a hand down her dress and let Crowley take the lead. "I may have started a few other endeavors, but that one is my personal favorite."

Crowley and Aziraphale were not talented dancers, by any stretch of the imagination, though they both seemed to lack the skill in such a similar way that they avoided stepping on the other’s toes as they swayed along the ballroom, laughing whenever they bumped into another dancing couple that could better follow the steps. After that song ended, another beautiful movement began. Aziraphale’s face lit up. “Oh, I enjoy this one, too. Crowley, can we?”

It took a moment for Crowley to regain the ability to speak, with her angel looking up at her like that. “Yes, of course,” she managed, “whatever you want.” 

That second dance turned into a third, then a fourth, and by then both of their feet were starting to ache and it was harder to pull air into their lungs, both from the rapid movement of the music and from how they started to laugh as their steps devolved into a cloud of chaos for the other guests, or when Crowley pointed out an especially questionable outfit choice that had Aziraphale agreeing with a giggle. Eventually they pulled their sore feet from the dance floor, accosting a nearby waiter with a tray of champagne and draining their glasses. 

“That was wonderful!” Aziraphale said, opening the fan at her wrist and flapping it in her face. “I haven’t danced in so long.”

“No?"

“Well, I didn’t have the right partner,” she admitted, leaning closer to Crowley, “one with two left feet.”

“Hey!”

“Oh don’t get upset dear, we complement each other perfectly, and annoyed everyone else here, you should be proud of yourself.”

“Well, yes. That is a good point.” They stood against the wall of the ballroom, watching the coordinated movements in the center of the floor, the flash of ball gowns as bodies glided along the floor. Even Crowley could admit that it was rather fetching, all the elegant glamor, and the sight of young couples fawning over one another, and the ones who were married who still seemed to enjoy the other’s company. 

“Ah, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, snapping her fan shut, “I do believe the door to the gardens is open. I might step out for a moment.” 

“Oh, I can come along - “

“But who will get to the other side of the room to get me a glass of ratafia?” she said with a sweet smile. She leaned up on her toes to press a kiss to Crowley’s cheek. “I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes, dear.” 

Crowley began the arduous process of moving between people who were dancing, chatting, and trying to look overly impressive. A few men called over to her, but she managed to dodge their invitation to what had to be a completely _riveting_ conversation about finances under the pretense of taking care of her fiance - which was true, Aziraphale was always serious when it came to getting a drink. 

She didn’t quite race back to where Aziraphale said she’d be waiting, but when she got back to the other side of the ballroom, she wasn’t surprised that the angel wasn’t around just yet. She leaned against the wall, watching the room, and waited.

And waited.

When the ratafia started to grow warm in her hand, Crowley could admit a feeling of worry working its way through her. _Where was she?_ she thought, watching the crowd. Did she not notice her? But that was impossible, Aziraphale stood out like a gold-shining beacon, and she definitely wasn’t inside. Did she get distracted out on the terrace? Or maybe this was a ploy. Crowley smirked at the thought. That had to be it - Aziraphale was expecting Crowley to follow her outside to get some privacy. She quickly made her way to the open doors. A few guests were gathered along the terrace, but Aziraphale wasn’t among them. Crowley went down the steps that led into the garden, and worked her way towards the courtyard where they had walked together on their first full day on the estate together. 

“Aziraphale? Angel?” she kept her voice low, not wanting others to realize they were both out here, but the grounds were rather large. She could feel the worry building in her stomach once again, that was when she finally heard the voices coming from nearby.

Besides the light shining from the windows, the only light hitting the courtyard was the natural glow of the stars in the night sky. The moon itself gave a pale glow to the area she found herself in. If she’d been human, Crowley probably would have managed to trip over a hedge or knock into a tree as she crept her way closer to the sounds. She found herself near a few pillars, and there she spotted her angel.

“I’m sure Sir Crowley would understand you choosing a more healthy suitor, Lady Fell.” And a complete bastard of a human. Aziraphale was sat on a stone bench, her gloved fingers worrying each other as the man leaned towards her, one of his legs planted on the bench next to her so he could adopt what he thought was the image of a dashing rogue. To Crowley, he looked the same as all of the other right tossers she had to deal with for the past fortnight, though for the life of her she couldn’t remember his name.

“Sir Crowley is the most wonderful suitor,” Aziraphale argued, “and I have already made up my mind to be with him both in sickness and in health.”

“Very noble of you, but not the smartest decision. Womenkind may be as intelligent as men thanks to books, but you lack the wisdom needed to see the match will fall apart.” 

“Not that I should even be entertaining such conversation, but what makes you say that? I happen to believe that Sir Crowley and I make a splendid couple. We’re equals in every way, and have known each other for a long time.” The agitation in Aziraphale’s voice was clear, but the man seemed to have not caught on to any of it.

Crowley watched as the man moved himself closer, reaching out an arm to grab, to _touch_ her Aziraphale, and that’s when she could no longer stand it. With a sharp snap of her fingers the man became still, his body frozen along with everyone else inside the estate. It was a slightly larger range than when she had frozen time in the Bastille, but still manageable, if only for a few minutes. 

Aziraphale looked towards her. “Crowley!”

“Why are you such a point of fascination in this house?” Crowley groused, coming closer. “You’re envied, scorned, or chased after. I thought you were an unassuming book seller in Soho.” 

“So did I,” she said with a sigh, rising up from the bench.

“Are you alright?”

“Aside from being annoyed, I’m quite fine. He just came out of nowhere,” she said, taking Crowley’s arm and walking towards the house. “You know, I _have_ heard that nothing is more enticing than a woman in a happy engagement.” 

“And nothing as miserable as the one she’s engaged to while she’s having all this untoward attention being paid to her.” Aziraphale stopped and turned to look at Crowley once more.

“You know none of these men hold my attention,” she said, “don’t you?”

“Well, yes,” Crowley mumbled. There was an unspoken ‘ _but…’_ between them. Aziraphale raised her eyebrows. “I just - ” Crowley shook her head. She _couldn’t_ say it. Why? They were clearly besotted with each other, weren’t they? There shouldn’t be anything to worry about, to hide. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale started, “do you know what I would have said to that man if you hadn’t come around?” She grabbed Crowley’s hands, interlacing their fingers. “I would have said that it didn’t matter the type of person you were, whether you were sick, or even an actual demon,” she said with a smile. “All that truly matters is that I love you, that I have loved you for so long I can hardly recall a time where I didn’t feel my very soul light up when I saw you. And,” she added, staring up at Crowley, “I had the strong suspicion that you… felt the same way.” She took a long, slow breath, having finally said it. 

Crowley could only stare at her, and think back to that moment when the angel had said that she had given away her flaming sword. Crowley remembered thinking, _this angel is something special._ She was quite sure she was looking at her with the same awe struck look on her face. 

“Well?” Aziraphale asked, striking Crowley out of her daydream. “Do you?”

“You’re incredible,” she answered. “I always thought that with angels, there’d be no way anything any of them ever did would shock me. Then the moment I meet _you_ , you with your charming smile outright telling a strange demon how you’d given away your only weapon. Every time I turn around you manage to surprise me.”

“I’m hoping this is all a compliment,” Aziraphale joked weakly.

“It is! What else would it be? I’m not complaining, I love it! I love the - you made your way to France during a revolution! For a snack!”

“Must you _always_ mention that?"

“You opened a bookshop and run it horribly!” Crowley continued, absolutely exuberant. 

“Really, now,” she said, starting to frown. Crowley squeezed her hands and leaned in closer.

“You’re absolutely fantastic, Aziraphale. I’m amazed by you, how could I not love you as well?”

“Oh! Oh, yes, well,” she smiled. “That’s a relief.”

“A relief? Was it ever a doubt?”

“I always suspected that you might have been, well, especially fond of me. Perhaps,” she mumbled, glancing purposefully at her. “I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Neither did I, but - here we are.” It only took a fortnight of close quarters, and here they were. Crowley tried not to think about if _this_ could have happened sooner, because then she might go mad. If they had gotten their shit together and Crowley could have had Aziraphale staring up at her, looking like _that -_

“I think I’ve had enough dances for one night,” Aziraphale said, interrupting Crowley’s thoughts of what could have been and dragging her back to the here and now. She put her arm in Crowley’s again and they went to the door of the ball. A hundred finely dressed figures stood frozen in the middle of dancing, talking, laughing, living. Walking through the crowd was surreal, the frozen humans a bit like going through a wax museum. Aziraphale stopped for half a moment to pilfer a champagne bottle, and then they were back in the foyer of the grand estate, the party behind them. 

“Any requests before I - set it back to rights?” Crowley asked, raising her hand to snap things back into place. Aziraphale leaned up, lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

“Take me to bed, my dear?”


	7. The New Arrangement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah those 'since you're in quarantine... i know y'all got WIPs' applied to us as well. Here's the final installment!

Crowley would have never described herself as ‘giddy’. That bubbling sense of excitement was not something a demon could feel - they couldn’t even experience anything in the  _ realm  _ of that word. 

The fact that demons didn’t fall in love with angels notwithstanding. 

So while Crowley would never admit what, precisely, she was feeling at this very moment, she could say that she had Aziraphale’s hand clutched in her own, and that they raced up the stairs together, leaving the recently unpaused crowd to their dancing and conversing, the noise getting quieter as they got to the higher floors, down the carpeted corridors, empty except for the two of them.

“W-Wait, just a moment, my dear,” Aziraphale said, stumbling a bit and trying to catch her breath. She pulled Crowley towards the wall, leaning against it. She smiled breathlessly at her, chest heaving, and - and -

After centuries of waiting for an outcome that Crowley was sure were never to happen, she thought she could be patient - at least until they were behind a closed door, but when she looked at Aziraphale’s flushed face, she couldn’t stop herself from pressing Aziraphale against the wall, pinning her there with her own body. 

Aziraphale gasped, opening her mouth, but Crowley just couldn’t help herself - after spending the entire day holding back, surely the angel couldn’t fault her for this? Crowley dropped her head down and pressed a kiss to her lips, cutting off anything else the other might have been trying to say. 

Just having the warmth of Aziraphale’s mouth against hers was almost overwhelming, she hadn’t realized how much of the angel’s teasing had affected her throughout the day. There was a heat building within her, and Crowley couldn’t stop herself from squeezing her thighs together as she deepened the kiss. Aziraphale moaned into her mouth, the noise making Crowley press her harder against the wall.

It was only when Crowley moved down to press kisses to Aziraphale’s pale throat that the other spoke up. “T-The party,” she gasped out.

“I’m not going back down there,” Crowley said, pressing a leg between Aziraphale’s, if only to keep her still. 

“The guests could come up at any minute and  _ see  _ us!” 

“Good, maybe then they’ll leave you alone and I won’t have to duel for your honor.”

“ _ Crowley,”  _ Aziraphale admonished, cupping Crowley’s face in her hands and giving her a sweeter, slower kiss. “You’ve been so patient, haven’t you?”

“After you teasing me all day, yes -”

“No, I mean,” Aziraphale bit her lip. “You’ve been patient. With me.” Crowley blinked. 

“I’d wait as long as you needed,” Crowley replied honestly. 

“It just - seems silly that, the two of us being here, like this, that was all it took for me to get some nerve -”

“Hey, hey,” Crowley kissed Aziraphale, stopping her in her tracks. “You have your reasons to be cautious, angel. That’s okay, it doesn’t change how I feel about you.” She kissed her again. 

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale smiled up at her. “I love you.” She grasped Crowley’s hand again, and dragged her down the hallway. 

“I love you too,” Crowley answered, plastering herself to Aziraphale’s back as she fiddled with the door. And, because she  _ had  _ been patient, and she was as much of a bastard as Aziraphale, she reached down and gave her a light pinch on her bottom. 

“Crowley!”

“Keep moving before I rip that dress off of you,” she teased in reply.

“You wouldn’t  _ dare, _ ” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley followed her to the bed and with a firm grip she pushed the angel, Aziraphale laughing as she bounced on the mattress. 

“Don’t tempt me, dearest.”

“Oh! You - ” Crowley didn’t let her continue. She climbed onto the bed and quickly knelt over her sweet fiance, smirking down at her as she snapped her fingers. Suddenly the layers separating her burning gaze from Aziraphale’s body was gone, nothing left between them but Crowley’s own ball outfit. That, and Aziraphale’s new embroidered stockings. Something she was quick to notice. 

“Really, dear?” she asked, kicking a leg up and flexing her foot.

“You were so intent on getting them from that maid this morning,” Crowley said, “I was only trying to keep them with you a bit longer.” 

“I’m sure that’s the only reason,” she said, her right leg hooking over Crowley’s hip. “And I do hope that’s been hung up in the wardrobe,” Aziraphale replied, despite the way that she was fighting down a blush as Crowley took in the sight of Aziraphale’s naked form.

“Mm,” Crowley hummed noncommittedly, eyes slowly raking over the other’s body. That delectable blush burning its way down to her breasts, making the dark pink of her nipples stand out against her white skin. She visually traced down to the softness of her stomach and curved hips, thoughts racing through her head of the marks she could leave all over them. Everything about her angel was soft, the heat of her body drawing her in and almost begging for Crowley to touch. She had to take a deep breath to try and steady her nerves. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale breathed out, tone hesitant.

“Mm?”

“You’re... “ She took a breath, and Crowley watched her chest rise and fall. “...Staring.”

“Hard not to,” Crowley murmured, “you’re so beautiful.” Aziraphale looked off to the side, and Crowley cupped her cheek, gently nudging her gaze back over. “You are.”

“I should be saying that to you,” Aziraphale said. As much as Crowley wanted to take in the rest of her, she was drawn in by Aziraphale’s light blue gaze, losing herself in that fond brightness in her eyes. “Crowley…” she breathed out. Crowley gently hushed her, kissing her softly on the lips and pulling a sigh from her love’s mouth. "Please, dearest. I thought you wanted to hurry up?”

“Sorry, angel, just...”  _ Entirely overwhelmed. _

“I know.”

“I just - I never thought you would… I mean. Is this… really what you want?” 

“Do you think I would let you lay on top of me while I was naked - by your own demonic miracle, may I add - if this isn’t what I wanted?” Aziraphale pulled Crowley down for another sweet kiss. “I adore you, you silly demon. Hasn’t that been obvious?” She kissed Crowley’s nose for good measure. “Don’t get cold feet on me now.” 

“Y-Yes, right.” She carefully put her hands on Aziraphale’s waist, gently squeezing. The silvery moonlight shining into the room illuminated the bed just enough that Crowley could see the adoration in Aziraphale’s eyes. “Well,” she said, pulling herself together, “as much as I enjoy our bickering, I do believe that I have a fiance to take care of,” Crowley plastered on a cheeky smirk and inwardly rejoiced when her angel laughed in response. Her leg squeezing where it was hitched behind Crowley’s back, her arms wrapping around the back of her neck. Demons couldn't sense love, but she would be an idiot to not pick up on the signals Aziraphale was sending. It was still hard to wrap her mind around it, so she decided to focus on something much, much easier: pleasing Aziraphale.

Crowley moved to press her mouth to Aziraphale’s neck, kissing a spot there and groaning as she tasted the sweetness of her skin again. She felt the vibration as Aziraphale let out a soft moan in return as she began to lick and bite at the skin, not stopping until she knew for a fact that a mark would be left behind for anyone in the estate to see. It would be wonderful to watch those idiots stammer as they realized that her angel had been well taken care of that night, thank you very much.

Feeling accomplished, she slid her way down Aziraphale's body, kissing every inch of her angel's hot skin as she moved, listening intently to the soft sighs her lovely fiance couldn't stop herself from letting out at the touch. 

She put some extra slink into her hips as she crawled down the bed. She kissed at soft hip bones, an even softer stomach, nipping at the skin and smirking as Aziraphale gasped.

"Dearest," Aziraphale breathed out. Her cheeks burned a sweet pink, sweat gathering along her brow as her eyes never left Crowley's as she moved. 

"I've got you, angel," she answered. Crowley pressed another kiss to Aziraphale's stomach, and with a grin she let her eyes fall to the soft skin resting between her angels thighs. She had guessed that like herself, Aziraphale chose to wear a pussy instead of a cock, the freeing feeling of being in a dress always having the chance of showing a bit too much down below. However, while Crowley had left her own pubic hair as untamed messy red curls, her angel appeared almost smooth at first glance. The blonde color of it was fine, almost translucent under her gaze, the pink of the skin easy to see under the short hair.

As Crowley stared for a moment, she could feel Aziraphale's legs tense under her palms, as though she was trying to find a way to press them together and block Crowley's view of her. She held them tight, raising a brow up at the angel until she couldn’t meet her gaze.

“I-I’m not used to being observed so intently,” Aziraphale stuttered out. Crowley rested her hands on Aziraphale’s knees and squeezed, keeping her hold steady until she could feel the other calming down.

“You know I won’t hurt you,” Crowley promised. She wanted so badly to taste her angel under her tongue, to have her shaking from her touch, but she knew that if this was becoming too much for her to handle she’d bring everything to a halt. 

Aziraphale’s responding eye roll and fond sigh wasn’t what she’d expected in return. “I know you wouldn’t, dearest. It’s just that your gaze was so intense I thought you’d planned to eat me!”

“Well, I do, in a sense,” Crowley said with a smirk. She leaned down, pressing a kiss just below Aziraphale’s navel. The angel had obviously not been expecting the touch, her muscles tensing briefly under her mouth. “You  _ do  _ look good enough to eat.” 

“Really,” Aziraphale said.

“Oh, yes indeed. Would that be alright? May I taste you?” The quick nod Aziraphale gave was answer enough. With a smirk, Crowley slipped a hand down to Aziraphale’s cunt and gently spread apart her folds. She couldn’t hold back a groan at the sight of how wet her lovely angel was, practically  _ dripping _ . Her clit was swollen from arousal, the skin a dark pink and shiny from her slick. She pressed a kiss there, lips parting to let her tongue slip free to taste her. Only seconds passed before Crowley was sucking, groaning as the sweet taste of Aziraphale spread across her tongue.

Crowley didn't care so much for food, but after nearly six thousand years on Earth one developed a rather advanced palette. Strains of fruits that were bred out of existence, meals with now extinct animals, pastries whose recipes were lost to time - and yet she couldn't begin to describe what Aziraphale tasted like. The salted breeze of an ocean, a tangy slice of pineapple, the musk of primrose? She licked deeper, only stopping to occasionally pull back and suck carefully on her clit before diving back in for another taste. If she thought the smell of her body, how the skin of her collarbone felt under her tongue, she wasn’t prepared for how magnificent Aziraphale tasted  _ here.  _

“Oh, oh dearest,” Aziraphale moaned, a sweet sound that sent a warm heat down into Crowley’s belly. A moment later she felt Aziraphale’s hand thread through her hair, nails scratching her scalp as she tugged her even closer, until Crowley couldn't move her face anymore. Her response was to let out a groan and grab at Aziraphale's thick waist to try and pull herself even deeper into Aziraphale's heat, mouth pressed into her opening and nose bumping against her clit - nowhere else to go.

“Y-you really do plan to eat me,” she gasped. 

Crowley just squeezed her waist and forced her tongue to work even harder, a more fitting response than actually answering the angel, who was now letting out desperate sounding gasps as Crowley eased her tongue inside of her. It took only moments for her to fall into an easy rhythm, taking mental note of what made Aziraphale shake under her touch, what got her to throw her head back and moan the demon’s name. None of it was exactly a  _ chore  _ to her, and already a wet trail was dripping down Aziraphale's thighs and coating her face. It made her feel a bit smug, honestly. 

The hand resting in her red curls tightened their grip when she decided to elongate her tongue just a  _ bit,  _ just to get that much deeper inside. Crowley couldn’t hold back a laugh when the angel’s warm thighs suddenly squeezed around her head, the silk of her stockings pressing against her, soft feet placed at her back. If she could talk, she’d be tempted to tease Aziraphale, but instead she just pushed at her thighs till her legs were up in the air, pulling up just enough so she could circle her thumb along Aziraphale’s entrance. She didn't have to stop to breathe after all, not if she didn't want to.

Aziraphale shuttered. “C-Crowley, please -” 

Crowley slid her forefinger deep inside, grinning at the moan that fell from Aziraphale’s lips as she shook from the feeling. She threw a quick glance up at the angel and Satan help her, Crowley wasn't sure if  _ she  _ could last with the way Aziraphale looked. The hand that wasn't holding Crowley in place was gripped tight in the bed sheets, her eyes staring up at the ceiling as the demon began to fuck her. 

"I - I don't know how much longer I can last," Aziraphale told her with a shaky laugh, before letting out a squeak when Crowley moved up, pressing her tongue flat against her clit. 

She pulled back, licking her lips clean. The bottom half of her face was wet and shining, and she couldn’t resist reaching up to bite at Aziraphale’s thigh, skin soft under her teeth. Her heart fluttered as Aziraphale watched her, eyes dark and pupils blown wide, all her attention on Crowley. 

"Then let go, angel," Crowley murmured, slowly sinking another finger into her as she watched her studiously. Aziraphale gasped, clenching around the digits as Crowley curled them and started thrusting. She soothed the bite she had just given her with a kiss. "You can come for me," she said, fingers working as she lowered her mouth back to her pussy. “I  _ want  _ you to come for me.”

Her lips had barely touched her clit before Aziraphale was arching up, squeezing even tighter, her body pulsing as she came, moans sounding in Crowley's ears sweeter than any music she had heard tonight. Come dripped past Crowley's fingers and onto the bed sheets as her hole tightened again and again.

She pulled back when Aziraphale could only make small whimpers, licking her fingers clean. There was still no way for her to describe how her angel tasted, but it was exquisitely addictive, she knew that much. She bent down to kiss the wetness from her thighs.

"Oh, must you?" Aziraphale admonished, the primness of her words lost by the huskiness of her voice.

"You taste good, sweet." She didn't, really. She tasted so much more complex than just 'sweet', but it was undeniably good, even still. She bent her head to get another taste and laughed at the screech Aziraphale let out, one of her legs pushing Crowley’s shoulder.

"Alright, okay, I'm done. Promise."

Crowley wiped her face with the sleeve of her shirt and laid over Aziraphale, placing tender kisses along her brow as her angel breathed, eyes closed in bliss.

"How was that?" she asked, twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger. Aziraphale cracked an eye open to stare at her. "Well?" Crowley shifted under her gaze, pressing her thighs together to alleviate the desperate ache she felt. She wanted to take care of Aziraphale, she was second to her angel, but that didn’t stop how desperate she felt. 

Crowley thought her angel was wrung out, ready to drop off at any moment. Crowley wouldn't mind if Aziraphale was needing to rest, she could easily take care of herself without complaint - after seeing her angel like  _ that,  _ she would be able to get herself off in seconds.

She wasn't expecting Aziraphale to move, rolling Crowley onto her back and sitting up. "Wh -" Crowley started to sit up, but was stopped by a hand on her chest, Aziraphale straddling her thighs. “Angel?”

"Shh," Aziraphale soothed, "it’s my turn to take care of you, now." Crowley couldn't stop the shiver that went through her. 

"Oh?" 

“Mm,” Aziraphale ran her hands down Crowley’s shirt, pulling firmly at the edges until the fabric  _ ripped  _ apart. Crowley gasped as she watched the buttons fly onto the floor. "You did such a good job, after all."

“Aziraphale!!”

“What?”

“You just - my clothes!”

“You just miracle your clothes, they’re not  _ real, _ ” Aziraphale argued. “Unlike mine - which I  _ do  _ hope you did put away properly, by the way.” Crowley just flopped back against the pillows, unable to keep an amused laugh inside.

“I can’t believe you,” Crowley said. It was so obviously fond. 

“I was starting to feel a bit underdressed,” Aziraphale sniffed, “I thought it should be my turn to stare at my wife’s body as I please.”

Crowley opened her mouth to argue, but found herself biting her tongue in surprise and hissing instead. Soft, gentle hands now cupped her small breasts, nails running over her skin and making her groan at the sensation of someone teasing at her nipples. Aziraphale’s eyes never left Crowley’s chest as she lightly squeezed, cupping them together and holding them.

"They're small enough no one noticed through your shirts?" Aziraphale asked, running a fingertip over a peaked nipple.

"We can't all be absolutely packing like you," Crowley muttered, ignoring the fact that she very much  _ could,  _ if she wanted to.

"I like them like this," Aziraphale replied, bending down to kiss them, arms holding Crowley around the middle like she might float away if she wasn't careful, and, well, Crowley felt like she could. She rested a hand on the back of Aziraphale's neck, watching her lavish her own chest with kisses, gasping as she did.

“Oh, the noises you make,” Aziraphale said, her voice holding almost a hint of surprise. 

“Noises? I don’t…” Crowley cut herself off with an actual moan as Aziraphale continued her almost torturous touching of her body. Fingers pinched lightly at her nipples, then harder as she gasped out a weak  _ fuck.  _

She couldn't even move away from Aziraphale's ministrations if she wanted to, the angel holding her down with her strong thighs, strong arms. The fabric of her pants rubbed against the ache between her legs as she suffered the pleasure of angelic touch. Men's trousers didn't require underwear of any kind, and she could  _ feel  _ her slick as she shifted. If the breeches had been white they would have long since been made see through.

"A-Aziraphale," Crowley choked out.

"Mm?"

"Were the trousers going to come off at any point tonight, or -?"

"I'd reprimand you for being impatient," Aziraphale said, hands already going to the buttons on the bottoms she wore, "but I do believe you've done quite a good job of the opposite today, so..."

Crowley groaned, both from Aziraphale pushing her clothes off and giving her some relief as cool air touched her overheated pussy, and from the roundabout way the angel was  _ praising her. _

"Ever hear of the long game, angel?" her words came out between panting breaths. Aziraphale had moved off her to tug her bottoms off her legs, tossing them to the side. She sat, staring at Crowley's wantonly spread legs, not saying a word. "Angel?" Crowley ventured.

"Have you ever heard I'm going to fuck you so hard you scream, Crowley?" Aziraphale replied, her charming smile making a tremor of delicious anticipation tingle its way up the demon's spine.

"W-what?"

"On your stomach please, darling." Crowley stared a moment longer, Aziraphale's words delightfully shocking enough that she wondered if this really was  _ her  _ angel… but who in heaven or hell would know how to make an imposter just enough of a bastard to be Crowley's perfect match anyway? With a leering grin that was full of bravado, she turned over.

Aziraphale only let out a soft hum, and for a few moments Crowley didn't hear anything from her. It was a bit worrying, now that she couldn't look her in the eyes and see what she was thinking. Did she not like the look of Crowley's back? Was her arse a bit of a let down?

She was about to open her mouth to tell her to  _ hurry up _ when Aziraphale finally spoke. "Alright."

"Alright?" Crowley craned her neck to try and see her, but saw nothing.

"Sorry, sorry. I was - well - thinking how to best go about this." Aziraphale’s voice moved around the bed as the angel talked, until she was once again in Crowley's vision. "Come dearest, lift your hips." Crowley did so without question, and the angel quickly tucked a pillow underneath her.

"What's this for?"

"A better angle, and you can rest on it," Aziraphale told her. Crowley settled down onto the soft cushion and noted that yes, it was nice. She rested her cheek on another pillow and waited for whatever Aziraphale would end up doing next.

Soft lips pressed against her shoulder and she shivered under the light touch.

"You're so beautiful," Aziraphale whispered. Crowley couldn't stop herself from letting out a noise, cheeks flushing dark red at her words. “You did wonderfully, dear,” she added. 

“Yeah?”

“ _ So  _ good, just -  _ perfect _ . You knew exactly what I wanted,” Aziraphale praised, and Crowley shivered again. More kisses pressed along her vertebrae, soft hands slowly trailing down her sides. “I'm doing my best to go slowly, to savor this. You'll have to forgive me if I can't hold myself back.”

“I -” Crowley’s mind blanked. She had always guessed that Aziraphale wouldn't be shy about things like this, but hearing her speak like that, it was almost too much for her. "I don't think I'd mind it."

"Well, I did have an idea of what I'd like to do to you…” Aziraphale trailed off, and Crowley felt her hands slide down from her sides to her ass. Her face heated at the touch, and she turned once again to try and see her angel.

“Aziraphale?” 

"I did say I would fuck you until you scream," she told her casually. "Would that be alright, dear?" A hand slipped between her legs to cup her mound, the heat of Aziraphale's touch causing slick to drip embarrassingly into the angel's palm. Crowley choked on a breath and whimpered.

"Please," she begged. "For G- S- for  _ fuck’s  _ sake, angel,  _ please _ ." She couldn't even begin to feel shame for her pleading, nor her dramatics. 

Two fingers were suddenly pressed deep inside her heat, hitching upwards and rubbing against a spot that made stars burst behind Crowley's clenched shut eyelids. She cried out - very probably  _ screamed.  _ It felt so  _ different  _ when someone else touched her. Someone she loved. Someone she waited centuries for.

"That happened much quicker than I expected." Aziraphale's tone was pleased, reminding Crowley of the last time they'd shared drinks and the angel had gotten herself pleasantly buzzed. She could even imagine the high flush on her cheeks.

"Don't you  _ dare stop," _ Crowley commanded.

"Oh, I wouldn't even think of it, dearest," and with that her angel continued fucking her, increasing how fast she was moving until Crowley found herself rolling her hips into the pillow and back onto Aziraphale's fingers in an erratic rhythm. She could feel her legs shaking against the bed and was grateful that she was laying down and not in a different position. And her angel was so smart in giving her the pillow, the surface was smooth and slowly becoming wet as her clit rubbed into the fabric. She ground harder into the pillow, shuddering as the strong shocks of pleasure went through her limbs.

"A -  _ ah!  _ \- 'ziraphale!" she stuttered, gripping at the bedsheets and groaning into the pillow as Aziraphale worked a third finger inside. She was too wet and desperate to do anything but eagerly open up under her hand, hips pressing against the cushion between her legs for some hope of friction on her clit. 

"Do you need something?" She felt her hair being lovingly brushed back from where it was sticking to the back of her neck and falling into her eyes. "You know all I want is to make you feel good."

"You're the true devil," Crowley gasped out. The pleasure building inside her was reaching a level that was almost too much for her to handle, and Aziraphale seemed to realize this as well. She felt sudden movement, and a warmth against her as she felt the angel move behind her to press against her back. It was almost grounding in the way that the angel was now touching so much of her, like a hug. It was safe.

"I’ve got you, dearest," her angel told her. Before Crowley could speak, a second hand began to rub roughly at her clit, and instead she  _ screamed. _

When the weight of her memories didn’t crush her and turn her stomach, Crowley could faintly remember back to her life before her Fall from Heaven. Her fondest and most cared for memory was the time she had spent helping make the stars that hung in the sky, neurons and atoms exploding in such a way that a burning creation came into being in front of her eyes. She’d never said it aloud, but the heat and light that would shine off her stars almost felt like what she could now call  _ home.  _

The orgasm that shot through her felt like that. Heat bursting behind her eyelids and down her spine, legs fully giving up ever having a job as she planted her face into the bed. She might have been drooling, she wasn’t too sure anymore after that.

The room buzzed with a low hum as she took deep breaths against the sheets, and the warmth against her back slowly moved away, leaving her cold.

“‘Ziraphale?” Crowley asked, weakly lifting her head from the pillow.

“Right here, dearest.” She felt the reassuring weight of Aziraphale sitting back on the mattress, a hand running along her back. “Here, roll over.” 

Crowley gave a great, overdramatic groan but managed to move and settle herself against the pillows, tossing the one that had been below her hips - which was now completely soaked - off the bed. “There, happy?” she asked, turning her head to look at Aziraphale.

She hadn’t gotten up to get dressed, as Crowley had thought. She had taken the bottle of champagne Crowley had pilfered from wherever she had put it down, and was now showing it off with a pleased smile. “Drink?” she asked. Crowley had honestly forgotten she had even taken it; of course Aziraphale would remember. 

“Mm, I love you,” Crowley said, eagerly watching as Aziraphale twisted the top off, muscles in her arms briefly showing as she forced the cork out, a small trickle of fizz running down her hand. She licked it off as she passed the bottle over to Crowley.

“No glasses, I’m afraid, but I find myself not minding too much.” 

“Well, you were trying to fuck me so hard I felt like I was about to discorporate,” Crowley said, taking a drink from the bottle. Once the bubbles popped and fizzled out on her tongue, the flavor was dry and sweet. “If you cared about the propriety of  _ this - _ ”

“Oh, please,” Aziraphale reprimanded, taking the bottle back. She took a sip, then another. “It was… alright?” 

“More than just alright,” Crowley said, leaning back into the pillows and stretching. Aziraphale moved a bit closer, laying a champagne-sticky hand on her stomach, knuckles running along her sweat-damp skin. “Angel?”

“Yes?” Crowley took a deep breath, and could feel Aziraphale’s hand rise as her lungs filled. 

“What happens… to us - after this?” 

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, before a thoughtful look went across her face. "I suppose we go down for breakfast, say our goodbyes and head home." She frowned. "Oh dear. You don't think any of them will be expecting a wedding invitation will they?"

"Better not. Weddings. Churches. Consecrated ground. Not my cup of tea, as I'm sure you can imagine." Aziraphale looked put out.

"Perhaps we could get a ship captain to do it when he's on shore leave," she suggested, "and tell them to come to the wedding breakfast." Crowley laughed, and laughed, until she saw the serious earnest look in Aziraphale's eye and realized it may not all have been a joke.

“Oh,” Crowley said softly. “That could be an idea, yes.” She was proud of herself for not startling as Aziraphale cupped her face, her eyes threatening to fall closed as the angel pet a thumb over her cheek.

“I do love you, dearest,” Aziraphale told her, voice almost a shout in the quiet room. “I would be honored to marry you.”

"You might end up with another strongly worded reprimand." The nerves in her stomach almost burned.

"I think I can manage that, this is more important." Aziraphale's eyes shined. " _ You  _ have always been more important. I want you to know that. I'm going to do everything in my power to show you that as well, dearest."

“You -” Crowley’s voice cracked and she shut her mouth, tears threatening to slip from her eyes. 

“Let’s get some rest, and tomorrow we can start anew, the rest of our eternity. Together.”

“That...that sounds good, angel.”

-

_ Somewhere in the South Downs, 2020 _

“We don’t have to invite Shadwell, do we?” Crowley asked, her head flopping back against the couch in their bedroom with a loud sigh.

“I already invited that nice woman who I inhabited for a bit, so I’m assuming she’ll be inviting him along as her plus one,” Aziraphale answered. Crowley watched as the angel rummaged through a drawer of her vanity, pulling out bits and pieces of jewelry and hair accessories for herself. She’d always wondered if the angel protested the sterile feeling of Heaven by making such a disorganized mess of her things. Or if she was just a bit thoughtless about material objects that weren’t her books. Probably more so the latter in this case. __

Aziraphale had found a brush and was running it through her hair, tugging it through her blonde locks as though any were out of place. She’d chosen a shorter bob a bit after the Antichrist had been dropped into Crowley’s lap, styling it with headbands and hairpins instead of her intricate braids of the past. “Are you wanting me to help you with your hair for the ceremony, angel?”

“Oh, that sounds lovely,” she chirped. “I’ve always loved when you dress up my hair.”

“Because you’d fuss if anyone else attempted to do it,” Crowley teased. She slunk off the couch and stood behind her wife - well, her bride as of that morning - and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

Since that fateful night two centuries ago, they’d been together ever since. It had been difficult at times of course; Heaven and Hell butting their heads in at terrible moments, bickering arguments that sometimes went too far when Aziraphale would attempt to defend her position as an angel on the side of ‘good’, causing Crowley to react out of spite, and neither of them wanted to dwell on the things they had said leading up to the almost End of Days. Crowley wasn’t built for taking so many sincere apologies on at once, for one. 

She had thought the best way to show Aziraphale that everything really was fine between them was to propose -  _ literally.  _ A renewing of their vows to remind each other that no matter what, they would be together until the actual end. Their own side.

And a bit of a corporation change, a bit like getting a dramatic haircut after a breakup; they both thought a change would suit. 

“It’s missing something,” Crowley said, eyeing Aziraphale’s face in the mirror. 

“Oh, you should put flowers in my hair,” Aziraphale offered. Crowley tilted her head back so their eyes met, and the angel smiled up at her. “Our first wedding was so quick and, hm, on the fly? I didn’t really put much effort into my appearance then.” Crowley vividly recalled the two of them finding a slightly sloshed and agreeable naval officer not long after arriving back in London and having them wedded in a pub just barely on the right side of ‘enchantingly bohemian’; Aziraphale’s words. 

“You were beautiful,” Crowley told her honestly. “The only thing I could pay attention to.”

“Oh, stop,” Aziraphale laughed as Crowley miracled a few flowers into her hand, ones grown fresh from their garden, and began tucking them into blonde curls. “I do remember the breakfast after, Violet was so happy for us.”

“Mm hm,” Crowley agreed, not paying much attention at that point. She was more focused on fixing up her wife’s hair into simple twists, pinned in place with the flowers going along like jewels in a crown of golden locks. “There, how does it look?”

Aziraphale turned her head, pressing a kiss to the knuckles of Crowley’s hand and over her wedding ring. “Wonderful, Crowley.” She turned her head this way and that to confirm it. Their eyes met in the mirror and she frowned softly. “I love you so much, dearest. I know I’ve been difficult, especially in the last year. If I’d only -”

Crowley shushed her gently, kneeling down to press a kiss to her cheek. “There’s no need for that now, angel. We’re happy, and safe. In a few hours we’ll have a lovely ceremony with the humans, and lunch at that pretentious little restaurant in town you love so much,”

“Which stocks that rosé champagne that  _ you  _ love so much,” Aziraphale cut in with a teasing grin, getting up from the vanity and walking towards the wardrobe, which was somehow able to fit multiple outfits of the angel’s from the past four centuries. 

“And then we’ll come back home so you can read more of your boring books while I do important things on my phone.” 

“Ah, yes. The lollipop smashing game you’ve been so invested in,” she said, tugging out a pale blue gown with beaded trim. It looked distinctly Edwardian and Crowley knew Aziraphale would look absolutely breathtaking in it. 

“It’s - you know what, yeah. Exactly. That one. Anyway, my point is -”

“But are you  _ sure  _ that’s what we’ll be doing?” Aziraphale asked, carefully laying the gown down on their bed. 

“Are we… going anywhere else afterwards?” 

“If we’re renewing our vows, I don’t see why we can’t act like newly _ weds, _ ” She shot Crowley a pointed look. To drive home the point, she dropped a pair of white stockings next to the gown, forcing Crowley to fight down a memory-driven blush. 

“Oh, em, y-yeah, yes, I suppose that’s all part of the, you know, Arrangement.”

“Was that what the Arrangement was about all these centuries? My, Crowley, you could have  _ told  _ me.”

“ _ New  _ Arrangement, you bastard.” Aziraphale laughed. “The two of us, remarried, properly… pomp and circumstance and advertising it to the whole bloody world, you and I. So much more than just doing a bit of temptation and blessings for one another.” It was something precious - finally getting the chance to celebrate each other, their love, their… side. Crowley got misty-eyed just thinking of it. She swallowed, steeling herself. If she started simpering while helping Aziraphale get ready she’d never make it through reading her vows. 

"Oh?" Aziraphale turned and sent a beautiful smile her way. It was full of wry humor and fondness and love, and Crowley was looking forward to however many more centuries she had of looking at it. "I suppose I can accept those conditions."


End file.
